


When Your Heart Dies

by LolaGranola



Category: The Breakfast Club (1985)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-05 07:21:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 56,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5366303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LolaGranola/pseuds/LolaGranola
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>High school reunions can be hard. Sometimes it's all about catching up with old friends, other times it's nothing but bad memories and repentance. Have you ever wondered what Claire's reunion was like? Would she have to apologize? Or did she do the right thing after detention? She tells us here, all original TBC members are in this story, plus 1 original character added to the detention. Story already completed and ready to post.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

In March of 1984, I was a senior in high school.  
I was immensely popular. So popular, in fact, I could treat people like garbage and instead of feeling insulted they'd think it was their own fault somehow. I’m pretty sure I thought it was their fault, too. At least on some level.  
I had my pick of boys, but I never dated them for longer than three weeks. That was a hard and fast rule of mine. Use ‘em and dump ‘em. Just run them through the ringer first.  
Yeah. I was one of those girls.  
I was a shoo-in for Prom Queen, a cheerleader, vice-president of the student council, Key Club president and a straight-A student. Not all of my A’s were earned through studying.  
Don’t get me wrong. I never fooled around with a teacher or anything. I never fooled around with anyone, actually. Another hard and fast rule of mine. But during my high school career, I learned that with the right smile and a few carefully placed words, I could have anything I wanted. Even from a teacher. Sometimes, it took flirting. Sometimes, a reminder that I was the only daughter of a respected Justice on the Illinois Supreme Court. Whatever it took. I learned that my place at the top of the food chain was a God-given right.  
Mr. Vernon was one of the few who felt otherwise. He was our school’s vice-principal, a job so unimportant he had to teach a few classes in order to stay relevant. I was one of the unlucky souls in his Senior Government class, and he didn't give a rat's ass who my father was. I actually had to study for his tests.  
But then one day, I didn’t. It was the first warm weekend of spring, and outdoor parties and bonfires were springing up everywhere. I didn’t have time to study for the three tests I had Monday morning, so decided to skip school to give myself a little more time. Studying wouldn’t take all day, of course, so an afternoon shopping trip seemed in order.  
The first two teachers didn't care that I had to make up their test. Vernon did. He called my house to verify my story and my mother had a fit, eventually finding out I’d not only skipped school but racked up hundreds of dollars on our credit card. Vernon thought it amusing that the daughter of a judge had to skip school to avoid a Government test, and I took the hint to just shut up and take whatever punishment he felt like dealing me. I might have been conceited, but I wasn’t stupid. I knew when to give in.  
He chose Saturday detention. I was mortified. But I went, feeling like a pariah, the Princess who should have been above something so mundane. My detention mates were a Burnout Criminal, a Basket Case, a Brain, a Nobody, and a Jock. We had nothing in common.  
At least that’s what we thought at 7:00 a.m.  
Imagine if you’d been that Nobody, or Jock, or Brain. Imagine what it would feel like to enter a room full of strangers, and emerge from it nine hours later feeling like they’d flayed you alive. That’s what it felt like. I went in so full of myself, intact and resistant to change. There was no need for change. I wasn’t just a Popular Girl, I was The Popular Girl. I was perfect.  
But I left that detention emotionally drained. Raw and cut open, but craving more with an intensity that burned because I’d finally, for the first time in my life, seen myself clearly.  
I wanted desperately to hold on to how I felt that day. We all did.  
But once back in the real world, when detention had ended and we were forced to live with our old, pre-set stereotypes, it was a difficult feeling to re-create. At least it was for me.  
As an adult, I compared so much of my life to that one day, looked back at that detention as such an important event in my life, that I sometimes forgot it had indeed been only one day. Nine hours, to be exact. The six of us were never again all in the same room together.  
Maybe that’s why I fell so easily.  
I was never meant to be the strong one.

 

Saturday, July 17, 2004  
Shermer High School  
Shermer, Illinois 60062

Claire stared at the front of her old high school. It made her feel a little sick.  
She could have just driven past, had in fact tried to convince herself she'd be late if she wasted any more time, but she turned into the parking lot anyway. It felt instinctual, an old habit, even though the last time she'd been anywhere near the school was over twenty years ago.  
She couldn't believe it took her two decades to dredge up the courage.  
It was empty for the summer, no other cars even sharing the parking lot with her, so she supposed its lack of life was what made it appear foreboding and dark. The sprawling stairs yawned away from her, straight into a series of recessed doors that were shaded by a giant concrete overhang. She squinted at it and tried to not be disgusted, but it looked like a giant mouth, lying in wait, perpetually ready to suck in and chew up a person's soul.  
God she was being dramatic.  
But still. It irritated her that the last few months of her senior year was all she remembered with any clarity. It seemed unfair, cruel even. Especially since her high school career prior to that had been spent in a state of almost surreal popularity. The school probably hadn't seemed so dark to her then. The shadows, more than likely, hadn't come until the end.  
Her phone buzzed from inside the rental car, startling her into the present. Leaning through the open window to grab it, she glanced at the screen and frowned at her ex-husband’s name. She'd called him less than an hour ago, and he'd grumbled then that she was calling too often, that she should let Evan enjoy time with his dad without her butting in.  
If he was calling her, something was wrong. "Hello? Nick?"  
"Hey, Princess."  
She flinched at the nickname. The only reason he used it was because he knew it bothered her and he was too lazy to be mean in any other way. It wasn't his nickname to call her. She shrugged it off and focused on the more immediate concern. "What do you need? Is Evan okay?"  
"Yeah. What should I buy him for food?"  
Claire glowered at the sky for a few seconds before answering. Her ex-husband was, for lack of any nicer term, a slacker. He was a pro at avoiding anything he considered work, be it a career, marriage, or parenting. Everything was fair game. "I gave you a grocery list when I dropped off Evan," Claire reminded him after gulping back the bitchy responses. "What happened to it?"  
"I dunno," he mumbled from suddenly far away. A clattering sound ensued, then his voice was clear again. "What about cereal? Does he eat cereal? I can get him some of these cocoa puffy things. Then I’d have to buy milk…"  
She pinched the bridge of her nose with her free hand and breathed out, trying to calm herself. "Nick, are you just shopping for him for the first time now?"  
"Yeah. So yes on the cereal?"  
"He's been there a full week already. What have you been feeding him?"  
"He's fine, we went out to eat a lot. Stop being such a nag and tell me what to get for him."  
She bit back five retorts, the first for calling her a nag, the next four all progressively nastier just because. "Fine. I'll text you another grocery list."  
She had a yearning to hear Evan's voice, to hear his little boy laugh as he insisted he "wuved" her. He was four and she'd never been separated from him before. Not even for a weekend or overnight, since Nick left them when Evan was still an infant. He claimed they were “hurting his spirit”, so he moved to Oregon with his new girlfriend and never once travelled back to visit his son. It was though he'd forgotten about him.  
So she'd been a little surprised when she finally pressured him into going through with the “hassle” of divorcing and he asked for nothing more than a yearly two-week summer visit with Evan. She was hesitant, but in the end she agreed, admitting to herself it would be nice to have a few weeks every year where she could work as late as was needed without feeling guilty about leaving Evan in daycare. Her poor boy spent way too many hours in someone else’s house. The divorce finalized in September, when July seemed like a lifetime away, and now she had no choice but to trust that Nick was capable of parenting. He probably wasn't irresponsible enough to lose Evan, after all.  
Probably.  
"Is Evan with you? Can I talk to him?"  
"Naw, he's at home. Joan is watching him."  
Claire bristled. She'd spent a fair amount of time and patience trying to convince Nick to spend the two weeks solely with Evan, that including the woman Nick left them for was confusing to a four year old, but he'd laughed at her. "Your whore is watching my son?"  
"Language, Princess," he chided with an amused chuckle. Like she'd told him a joke.  
She hung up on him.  
Her teeth ground as she jabbed a grocery shopping list into a text message, grunting in annoyance as she punched 'send', then pocketed the phone. The high school looked darker now, like it was mocking her, or even worse, daring her.  
She shouldn't have come.  
Reluctantly she turned and stared at the football field next to the school. The small, unassuming maintenance shed still stood at the far side of the field, its grey concrete walls and yellow metal door flooding her memories with an intensity that made her blush. She could only look at it for a few seconds, like it was a person she was embarrassed to look in the eye. With nothing left to look at but the parking lot, she gave up and got into the car.  
It wouldn't do to be late for the reunion, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

"I can't believe you two are still together."  
Claire almost felt annoyed staring at Andy and Allison. She'd known they were still together, she used to exchange emails with Allison at least a few times a year, her only high school friend that refused to give up on her. But it had always felt a little improbable to her that they’d still be together twenty years later. Like she’d show up at the reunion and discover Allison had been playing a joke on her all this time, and they’d laugh and laugh at the sheer craziness of the idea that she was still with some guy she met in a high school detention.  
But they were still together. And if anything, they were even more in love.  
"Yup," Andy boasted as he swung an arm around Allison. She beamed up at him, and Claire suppressed an eye roll. "A true high school sweetheart story," he said with a long glance at his wife. "Love at first sight and all that stuff."  
Allison patted his middle-aged paunch and grinned apologetically at Claire. She'd gained weight too, Claire noticed, the typical baby weight some women gain after childbirth that never leaves, transforming into just plain fat about the time the youngest kid hits school age. Claire felt smug that she'd retained her figure after all these years, childbirth and all.  
But their happiness and comfortable body language tugged at her. She knew she was focusing on the wrong things. "How many kids do you guys have again?"  
"Four!" Andy boomed. "All boys! And one of them is even on the school wrestling team, just like his old man!"  
"Don't worry," Allison quickly interjected, "Andy doesn't pressure them like his dad did to him." She giggled and glanced around, as though worried someone might overhear. "Truthfully, he's not that good. He just enjoys the sport."  
"That's the way it should be!" Andy protested. "I love that he enjoys it!"  
"I know, dear," she said as she gave him a patronizing pat on the cheek. They gazed at each other for a second before turning back to Claire. "And how old is Evan now? Five?"  
"Four. He's wonderful."  
She opened her mouth to tell them all about Evan, how smart and adorable he was, how much he'd changed her life and how much she missed him this week, but none of it came out. "I'm divorced from his father, actually. It's been really hard."  
Allison's face fell. "Oh, Claire. I'm so sorry, I didn't know!"  
Claire nodded her head. "I know, I never told you. I’m sorry. We separated right after Evan was born and finally divorced last fall.”  
Her friend’s face puckered with concern. “You raise Evan alone? Oh, honey. I wish you had told me, we could have talked more. I could have helped.”  
Claire smiled gratefully at her friend. “I know you could have. I guess I was just embarrassed.”   
"That's too bad, Claire," Andy boomed. What was with his voice? When did he become so loud? She clearly remembered him shouting and whooping it up with the other high school jocks, but that day in detention he'd been so soft-spoken, so delicate with his words. And the last couple months of school after he'd been so absorbed in Allison that everything came out in hushed, awed tones. Like he'd forgotten how to yell, or was afraid he might scare her away with loud voices. Claire had expected a hushed tone now, in light of her admission.  
She shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable with the topic she'd wanted so desperately to talk about ten seconds ago, and turned her head to take in the bar. "Why are we having a reunion in a bowling alley bar?" Claire scoffed. "Could they be any more Midwestern?"  
Allison glanced around in surprise. "Uh...you're back in the Midwest. What did you expect?"  
Claire startled at Allison's forthrightness. For twenty years now, she'd strove to be as superficial as possible, to belittle everything deemed beneath her and to assume everyone else felt the same. None of her California friends would have called her out on her rudeness, they would have just flat-out agreed with her, no matter how much they loved whatever was being dissed. Agree. Fit in.   
It was very much like high school, as a matter of fact.   
Slowly, Claire turned back to regard the girl who had never found it necessary to fit in, even at her own high school. "You know what, Allison?" Allison arched an eyebrow as though accepting a challenge, and Claire grinned. "I've really missed you."  
Allison's face softened immediately. "I didn't realize it until now, but I missed you too." They grinned at each other for a few seconds before Allison pulled herself out from under Andy's arm and launched herself at Claire. "I didn't give you a big enough hug when we first saw each other," she offered as explanation as she squeezed Claire in that casual, ungraceful hug all Midwesterners seemed to enjoy. No air kissing here. She squirmed for a second before squeezing back.  
"I need a beer," Andy exclaimed, patting his wife on the back and walking away. Allison untangled herself and grabbed Claire's hand, dragging her to the bar and pointing out old classmates as they ordered their drinks.   
"Do you still hang out with any of these people?" Claire asked, crossing her legs under the high top bar table they snagged and surreptitiously smoothing out her clothes so she didn't looked crumpled or dumpy.   
Allison laughed. "Are you kidding? I didn't hang out with them when I was in high school!" She gestured to herself. "I was a loner basket case, remember?"  
"Not after you met Andy."  
Allison wrinkled her nose at Claire. "He didn't save me or anything. I was perfectly happy with my level of popularity. In fact, I fell in love with him despite his being popular." She took a long sip of her sangria and raised another challenge eyebrow. "And I didn't become a better person because you showed me how to put on make-up."  
Claire held up her palms. "I know, Allison. Jeez, I said I missed you. I didn't necessarily miss you getting all defensive on me." Silently she high-fived herself. She could be forthright, too.  
Allison thought about it. "You're right. I just naturally go to the defensive thing. I must be regressing because of the reunion." She took another sip of her drink and shivered slightly, as though literally shaking off the defensiveness. Claire marveled at how well she took criticism. Why couldn’t she do that? "I do hang out with some of them, actually,” Allison continued. “About half our class still lives in town. I see them around."  
"And that doesn't feel weird, after all those years of them ignoring you in school?"  
She shrugged. "Not really. The high school clique thing kind of went away once we all started having kids and went to the same "Mommy and Me" yoga. We were on the same playing field all of a sudden." She grinned wickedly. "Though I admit it helped that I married one of their stars."  
Claire laughed. "So...Allison Reynolds, popular hometown girl. Bet you didn't see that coming."  
Allison laughed and shrugged. “I probably would have eventually dropped the loner thing on my own. I wasn't even that dark, really. I was just pretending."  
Claire smiled. "You seemed dark to me."  
Allison rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. "That's because you had so many spotlights shining on you."   
Claire grimaced into her drink and changed the subject. "Did you ever see Sheila after graduation?" She really didn't want to bring it up, didn't want to be a downer, but it felt weird not acknowledging her, knowing she wouldn't be at the reunion.   
Allison dropped her eyes to her drink with a resigned shrug. "I ran into her a few times when Andy and I moved back here," Allison said. "We always promised to have her over for dinner or something, but we waited too long."   
Sheila had been a pretty, lively girl with a smile and a laugh that absolutely lit up a room. Her personality had no place in the bleak darkness the rest of their detention group dredged to the surface that Saturday. "No, my parents are really supportive," she insisted while everyone else complained and griped about theirs. "Life is what you make of it," was her overused statement on detention day. It was funny, because on the surface, she looked like she'd have the most to complain about. She was pretty but a little pudgy, had friends but wasn't anywhere near popular. She wasn't talented at anything artsy or athletic, was an average student, had never had a boyfriend. It was as if she existed along a hidden middle plane on the scale of popularity, not popular but not noticeable enough to be unpopular, either. She was just there, hiding in plain view. Claire certainly hadn't noticed her before detention. She was a Nobody. The school was full of them, people who didn't stand out enough to fit into any other social group.  
Her role that Saturday had been to remind the other five to be kind to each other, and to make the best of their lives. She was even in detention for a noble reason, taking the blame for a friend who had cheated on a test. The friend was "really struggling with things" according to Sheila, and only had so many detentions left before she'd be kicked out of school. Sheila was not about to let that happen.  
Her positive attitude and overall niceness annoyed Claire at the time. Now it was easy to see that Sheila had been the only one who knew who she was, the only one who believed in herself or felt positive she was heading in the right direction. She was the only one who had loved her life.   
But she was the one who didn't get to enjoy it long enough. She was 23 when she died in a car crash on the way to her college graduation. Claire was in the middle of an important job at work and couldn’t come back for the funeral, but that night Brian called her and they shared some memories. She didn't cry then - it hadn't seemed real from such a long distance -but a few weeks later a package arrived from Brian. In it was a framed photograph of the six of them. They were done with detention, just hanging out on those massive steps in front of the school, waiting for rides to show up. Allison had taken a camera out of her bag and snapped a few pictures, and when Sheila's mom showed up, she smilingly offered to snap a picture of all six of them together. "I think we're going to want a picture to remember this day," Allison had prophesied.   
Claire cried herself to sleep for a week after receiving the picture in the mail. Even now she had to bite her lip to keep the tears from welling up again. She fiddled with her napkin, quickly changing the subject. Again. She was having a hard time with any conversation, apparently. "Do you ever see Brian?"  
"Once or twice a year. He lives in Chicago with his wife. He said he'd be here tonight as long as nothing came up at work. He's some big shot scientist at a college there. Of course."  
Claire nodded while staring at the tabletop, her fingers working on fraying the corner of her cocktail napkin. She took in a breath to ask the question she most wanted the answer to, but at the last second raised her wine glass to her lips instead.   
"John still lives in town."  
At the sound of his name, Claire's throat constricted and she choked, coughing wine back the wrong way. Allison raised an eyebrow again, this time in a way that made her look amused rather than challenging. Claire took the cocktail napkin and held it to her lips as she coughed. "I didn't ask!" She managed between clearing her throat of the liquid and another dainty cough.  
"Yes you did."  
One last cough cleared her throat and with a glare across the table, Claire slammed the last half of her wine glass. Defiance shot through her. "No, I did not."  
"But you want to know." Allison grinned. "I remember how you two flirted at detention. I know you two didn’t talk much after, but I'm sure you wouldn't mind running into him again."  
Claire turned away in exasperation. The Californian in her was just about done with Allison's forthright thing, especially since she wasn't planning on being forthright in return. She wasn't about to correct Allison's misconceptions about her and John.  
She breathed in loudly through her nose, and after exhaling with a breathing technique she'd learned in yoga, she turned back to Allison. "He's not in the phonebook," she admitted. "I looked. And I can’t find an email for him."  
Allison grinned quietly. “He's not really a computer guy."  
"You still know him?"  
"Sort of. Andy and I see him around every once in a while."   
Claire squirmed. "And?"  
"And...the last time I saw him he asked about you."


	3. Monday Morning

Monday, March 26, 1984

Monday morning was a complete bitch. Every person in the school who mattered asked Claire about detention. "So unfair," they bemoaned. "I can't believe they made you sit with all those losers. Like you're a Burnout or something."  
Every time she hear those words, she couldn't not imagine John standing behind her, judging her responses. So she shrugged at everyone and said as off-handedly as possible that it hadn't been that bad and she'd actually kind of enjoyed getting to know a few new people. Sort of. Shrug.  
"Who else was there?" They'd demand, a wrinkle of distaste developing across dainty popular girl's noses even before hearing the answer.  
And though she told herself over and over to be strong, she’d invariably cave and answer something like: "No one you'd know except Andy. But even if I had to waste a day talking to detention people, at least I can count on their votes for Prom Queen, right?” And they’d laugh and make some joke about earning the Burnout vote through “detention tactics” and she would hate herself.  
Everyone asked. No one would shut up about it.  
And she never did see John.  
Lunch proved interesting. She sat at her usual table, with her usual crowd of Popular Girls, and even though the table was filled with cheerleaders, prom queen candidates and girls who were popular for no reason other than their looks and intimidation tactics, Sheila the Nobody sat down next to Claire.  
"Hey, Claire!" she bubbled with her typical enthusiasm, as though she ate lunch with Popular Girls every day.  
"Uh...hi," Claire stammered. Then she said nothing, baffled as to how to respond to this bold move, how to explain to her friends why this Nobody was sitting with them. She felt the inquisitive stares turn hostile and was just about to instinctively sneer and shrug this nuisance off, when Sheila’s enthusiasm visibly wavered. “I hope you don’t mind me sitting with you, all my other friends are in the other lunch period, I’ve sat alone all year and I’m sick of it.” Her smile stayed put, but it paled and turned plastic as she and Claire stared at each other.  
And then Claire realized: The smile on Sheila’s face wasn’t her typical smile. It was pretend, and it was trembling. Even her eyes, usually so open and friendly, seemed veiled. She was anticipating something, something bad. It only took Claire a second to figure it out.  
Sheila thought Claire was going to turn on her.  
But she was here anyway, pushing Claire to stay friends, just like she promised she would.  
Claire suddenly felt extremely protective. She wanted Sheila to count for something. To be noticed.  
"Girls," she heard herself saying, "This is Sheila. She was in detention with me." She waved her hand around the table, airily pointing out everyone at once, as if they were of no consequence. "Sheila, these are the girls." She turned to face the table with a look she hoped was no-questions-asked. "Sheila is one of us now."  
She could practically feel the relief pouring off Sheila, and Claire shared an encouraging smile with her even as she felt the waves of shock from the rest of the table. Sheila’s answering smile looked a little more like her normal smile, but it still faltered when she glanced around the table at the gaping Popular Girls.  
"Um...why?" Samantha finally ventured. Samantha was a massive bitch, one of those girls who was immensely popular but nobody's friend. She thought everyone was beneath her. If anyone was going to question a pudgy Nobody transitioning to the Popular Girl table, it was going to be Samantha. There was only one way to deal with her.  
Claire let her face fall into a condescending sneer as she stared her down. She didn’t say anything, just stared, breaking eye contact only once to let her eyes drift all over Samantha before snorting, as though she'd studied her and found her lacking in some way. Samantha huffed back for a bit, but when her eyes flitted nervously to Sheila, as though assessing if she was worth it, Claire knew she had won.  
"I got to know Sheila quite well in detention," Claire primly stated, making sure to act like she was addressing everyone except Samantha. "She was there covering for a friend who would've been kicked out of school if she got another detention." The table looked unimpressed. Claire wasn't surprised. She stifled a sigh and wiggled her perfectly manicured pink fingernails in front of her face, turning so everyone could see. "She also does manicures at her mom's nail spa." Six pairs of eyebrows raised in interest.  
"Your mom has a nail spa?" Diana asked, grabbing unceremoniously for Sheila's hand and studying her nails. "Is it that one over on Eighth Street? That’s my fave."  
It was over so fast. Diana was by far the nicest and most accommodating of the group, but that hardly mattered. If one fell, the rest would follow. Sheila looked stunned under her smile, but Claire winked at her and spent the rest of lunch on high alert. It was incredibly important to her that Sheila become one of them, that the girls understood she wasn't just a pet project. She needn't have worried, the girls were predictably impressed with Sheila's nail experience.  
Until Brian appeared at the table.  
"Hey Claire. Hey Sheila."  
At the sound of his voice Claire brightened immediately, which surprised her. Then she hid it, which didn't. "Hey Brian," she mumbled.  
"How was the rest of your weekend?" bubbled Sheila. Claire mentally kicked her and wondered if she was going to have to give her Popular Girl lessons, teach her how to dial down that enthusiasm.  
Brian sort of smiled and rubbed the back of his neck, staring uncertainly around the table, as though just then realizing he'd walked into a snake pit. "It was great, thanks. No biggie, just studied." He put both hands on his hips and shrugged apologetically. "That's what us Brains do, you know. Study, study, study."  
Claire glanced at her friends. With the exception of Sheila and Diana, everyone’s nose wrinkled in disgust. Again. “Ugh. Barf,” someone whispered under their breath.  
"I study weekends, too," Sheila insisted, and when her new friends looked at her with cute little frowns, she laughed and waved her perfectly manicured nails at them. "Unless, of course, I'm booked solid hosting spa parties."  
Claire shook her head in awe as the girls rushed to agree. Sheila was good. Maybe she wasn't the one who needed lessons.  
Unfortunately, Sheila was no longer the problem.  
"Is this a-nother one of your new friends from detention?" Laurel asked, more than a hint of exasperation in her voice. Laurel was Samantha's best friend, if only because they were both so bitchy they ended up left together more often than not.  
Multiple pairs of accusing eyes swiveled towards Claire, and it occurred to her that her reputation might not be able to handle another weird friend. In her head, John stood behind her again, waiting for her response, judging her for how long she hesitated before doing the right thing. Smirking because he'd been right about her.  
She wondered why imaginary John standing behind her mattered more than real Brian standing in front of her.  
Then she realized it must not, because she was going to do it. She glanced around the hostile table again, settling on Sheila and Diana since they both smiled at her expectantly. Their small show of acceptance worked. She was going to claim Brian as a friend. Or at least an acquaintance.  
"Yes," she smiled towards Brian. "You get to know each other pretty well when you have to spend an entire Saturday together, right Brian? We're not really that different, we discovered."  
Brian looked startled at the comparison and blushed. "Well, I don't know about that. I mean..."  
"Brian was so funny at detention," Sheila interrupted. "If it wasn't for him, we would've all been bored to death. He kept us entertained."  
His blush turned a deeper scarlet. "Oh, I really -."  
Diana thrust out a hand and grasped Brian's, startling him into silence. "I think we owe you and Sheila a debt of gratitude. Move over, Laurel." With her free hand, she shoved an obviously put-out Laurel further down the bench and pulled Brian into the table, forcing him to squeeze in between the girls. Laurel made every effort to slide away, but Samantha smiled vindictively and stayed put.  
"We failed her," Diana exclaimed to the table, waving her plastic spork in the air for emphasis. "As her best friends, we should have found a way to get into detention ourselves and been there with her. We could have just shown up for no reason."  
A delicate snort came from further down the table. "I’m so sure," Samantha muttered under her breath. She'd been the one who skipped with Claire, had talked about it throughout most of lunch period that day, but never got caught. No one pointed it out.  
"But we didn't," Diana continued. "We bugged out and abandoned her. I think Brian and Sheila saved the day and took care of our girl. And for that, we thank you." Samantha snorted again, but nobody else added their thoughts. Apparently done with her debt of gratitude speech, Diana offered Brian the sugar cookie from her lunch then turned back to her yogurt, pausing only to wink at Claire.  
An uncomfortable silence filled the table as everyone stared at Brian. He studied the cookie in his hand as though it were a dangerous object, then forced an uncomfortable laugh and took a nibble. "Mmmm," he nodded, acting for all the world like it was the best cookie he'd ever tasted. “Is it a sugar cookie? I love sugar cookies. It tastes like there’s some secret spice, do you have the -.” Claire rolled her eyes and interrupted the babbling. "Brian?" He shot her a desperate look, still holding the cookie as though it might explode. "Weren't we going to talk over lunch about...that...that thing?"  
His eyes remained confused and clouded for a moment, then cleared and he ricocheted to his feet. "That paper you had to write?" he eagerly suggested. "We only got part of it done at detention, we need to finish it."  
"Yes!" Claire gushed, relieved at his quick thinking. Vernon never asked them to rewrite the paper Brian had done for them, but it was a good excuse. "We should get to work on that. Do you want to come with us, Sheila?"  
Sheila glanced at Diana, then the rest of the table before smiling. "No, I think I'll stay here. Thanks!"  
Claire collected her things and rounded the table, linking arms with Brian as she guided him away. She looked back and almost laughed at how four heads leaned in to the center of the table, gossiping so feverishly their hands waved in the air. Diana and Sheila looked lost in their own conversation, oblivious to the rest of the table.  
"Diana seems nice," Brian commented in between bites of cookie as she led him to an empty table in the farthest corner of the lunchroom.  
"She is," Claire agreed. "I guess I never really noticed that about her." Brian gave her one of his looks but didn't say anything. They sat down side-by-side in the corner, but one look at the lunchroom full of gawking students made Brian shoot back to his feet and move to the other side of the table, his back to the crowd. "Ignore them," Claire insisted, thought she didn't know where all this bravery was coming from. She wasn't entirely sure her reputation could handle this.  
But for once, she didn't care. Like honestly, truly didn't care. It was a weird feeling. She didn't know what to do with it.  
"You're doing it, Claire!" Brian exclaimed, as though he'd read her thoughts.  
"I know," she breathed as she rested her head in her hand. "I can't believe it myself. Next thing you know I'm going to bring a Burnout to prom.”  
"Well," Brian shrugged. "Baby steps, Claire. Baby steps."  
Claire giggled. "Thanks for coming over to talk to me. You were very brave."  
"Naw, as a general rule The Brains don't care that much about being unpopular, we just care about getting good grades." He grinned wryly. "It was a simple risk analysis, I'd either get laughed at for half a day by Popular Girls who don't talk to me anyway, or I'd cement a friendship. I had little to lose and a lot to gain."  
"If you're going to talk math stuff, I'll end this friendship right now."  
He laughed at her with a dismissive wave of his hand, then glanced back at the Popular Girl table. "Sheila inspired me. I know we talked about Monday morning and I talked big about staying friends with all of you, but to be honest, I kinda thought none of us would have the guts to do it, you know?"  
Claire nodded. She knew exactly what he meant.  
"But then I saw Sheila walk up to you like it was just a given she was still your friend. And I realized we could do this. We could all stay friends. Don't you think?"  
Images of John filled her mind. She wasn't sure she could ever be friends with him. She wasn't sure about any of this, honestly. She was proud of how she'd acted the past half hour, proud that she stood up to her friends and did the right thing not just once, but twice. But to keep it up for the rest of the school year? To change not only her own expectations but her friends' as well? Just the thought was dizzying.  
But she doubted Brian would understand. And he looked so triumphant, so pleased with her. Claire simultaneously shrugged and nodded, not sure what honest words she could say that wouldn't disappoint him.  
"I have another reason for wanting to talk to you," Brian said as he cautiously peered over his shoulder. Most of the watching faces had lost interest, so he slid around the table and reclaimed the chair next to Claire.  
"Look at Andy," he demanded as he crossed his arms across his chest.  
Claire didn't have to search for him, Andy always sat at the Jock table not far from her own usual table. His table was filled with wrestling buddies, Bohunks and other Jocks, always rowdy and always noisy. The Popular Girls often rolled their eyes when the Jocks got out of hand, but in an adoring, what-are-we-going-to-do with them kind of way. They were, after all, some of the most desirable boys in school.  
Today, however, the rowdiness carried on without Andy. He sat at the end of the table, arms crossed in front of himself and eyes staring past the good-natured wrestling surrounding him. He didn’t even have his typical giant lunch bag in front of him. He didn’t have any food in front of him, actually. "What's he looking at?" Claire wondered aloud.  
Brian didn't answer, just gave her another of his looks then pointed to the far end of the long lunch room. At a lunch table that could easily seat another nine people, Allison sat alone.  
She didn't look quite as much like a bag lady as she had on Saturday morning. Her clothes still left a lot to be desired, but her hair was brushed out of her face, and she appeared to have at least tried to apply her make up the way Claire taught her at detention. The blood red nails Sheila manicured for her on Saturday jumped out, her hands neatly folded in front of her on the table. Even from across the room, Claire could see they were still perfectly polished. Allison hadn’t bitten them. She’d been worried she would.  
She really was pretty when she tried. But she looked uncomfortable in her own skin, as though she didn't know how to act with her new look. Though Claire had never noticed Allison before. Maybe she always looked uncomfortable in the real world, outside detention.  
"Andy's staring at her," Claire realized.  
Brian nodded. "What are we going to do?"  
She tore her eyes away and stared at Brian in surprise. "Do? We're not going to do anything. What would we even do?"  
"We're their friends," he insisted. "They need encouragement."  
"You just told me to take baby steps."  
"Yeah, but..." he trailed off and his gaze swung from Andy to Allison and back again. Then he grinned at Claire. "They're in love. This is different."  
She didn't even try to hold back the eye roll. "You don't understand, Brian, he can't just go over there and pick up a loser Basket Case girlfriend. None of his friends would think it was cool."  
He frowned. "She's not a loser. And who cares what his friends think?"  
"Maybe he cares, Brian. And I didn't mean to call her a loser. At least, I don't think she's a loser, I just meant it as a...well, a..."  
"A label?"  
Claire huffed at him. "Fine, you're right. I'm sorry. But you're still wrong about interfering. You need to let Andy and Allison handle it themselves. Besides, what makes you think she wants him to talk to him? She was quite clear that she didn't care if we liked her or not. Why would she say that if it wasn't true?"  
He smacked himself in the forehead, a mocking gesture. "Oh, I don't know, Claire. Maybe because she lied? Because she didn't want us to think she cared about what we thought?"  
"Why would she do that?"  
"Because that's what unpopular kids do, dummy. They pretend they don't care that no one likes them. That way they don't get hurt when no one does."  
She turned and stared at him, her mouth hanging open. "When did you become such an expert on feelings?"  
"On Saturday, with the rest of you." His eyes rounded back on Andy. "Besides, those two couldn't stop staring at each other by the end of the detention." He gestured a hand between the two. "This didn't start today."  
Claire sighed. "As you said: Baby steps. You're not going to change the entire school overnight. Today, you got me to sit with you at lunch, maybe tomorrow you can get Allison to smile at you and Sheila to walk down the hall with you."  
"Sheila and Allison aren't going to be the hard ones," he muttered. "What about John?" he asked without warning.  
Claire froze, even though she'd been waiting for the name to come up, knew it had to. "What about him?"  
"How does he fit into this? Do you think he wants to talk to any of us? I mean, he seemed like he kinda liked most of us by the end of the day. Maybe he'll -"  
Claire held up a hand, stopping him. Brian didn't know about the kiss, everyone else had left before it happened. Brian only knew that John had shamelessly flirted with and tortured her the entire detention and that by the end of the day, Claire didn't seem to mind that much. Brian had at least noticed that much. Everyone in detention had. But Claire doubted very much that Brian or anyone else would have guessed that she and John said their goodbyes through a kiss. "No. I don't want to talk about John," she said as she waved her hand in Brian's face. "Just stop."  
"Why?"  
She rested her chin back in her hand. "He doesn't want any of us as friends. He's a Burnout and we're too clean for him. He doesn't want to tarnish his image."  
"You don’t know that."  
Her temper flared suddenly. "Look Brian, just let it go! There’s no plan to save the world, don't take this too far. Leave John alone. He doesn't want to be bothered by any of us."  
"He'd talk to you."  
"I'm not talking to him."  
Brian sagged back into his seat and crossed his arms again, eyes sweeping between Andy and Allison. "Fine," he muttered.  
She sighed and felt her body sag in relief. She wasn't sure why. "I'm going now," Claire said as she gathered her bag. "Brian?" He dragged his gaze back to her and she smiled at him. "Thank you."  
He grinned back and waved a hand of dismissal at her. "Don't mention it. Just remember that this isn't over, I'm going to remind you every day that we're friends now, so you better get used to it."  
She patted his shoulder in acknowledgement and left. She returned Sheila's enthusiastic thumbs up from across the room and tried to smile at Allison, but Allison never looked up, even as Claire walked in front of her table.  
And she never did see John that day.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's still 1984!

The next day Brian once again braved the Popular Girl table. He talked briefly with Claire, Sheila and Diana, was almost successful at ignoring the sneers of the other girls, then waved goodbye and approached Allison. Claire watched from across the room as Brian talked with her for only a minute before Allison nodded and stood, collecting her gigantic bag and lunch tray. Claire smiled when she saw that Andy’s blue sweatshirt was wrapped around her waist. She wondered how Allison ended up with it.  
Allison didn't look like she particularly wanted to leave her table, but she followed Brian to the center of the lunchroom. She fidgeted with her milk carton as he gestured around his table, introducing her to the other Brains, then she sat silent. She didn’t even do anything weird with her food, like put candy bars on her spaghetti. She just ate a normal lunch. But she didn't look happy.  
Of course, maybe that's what she wanted them to think.   
Claire felt a touch smug at the thought, as though some of Brian's perceptiveness had worn off on her. It wasn't something she would have thought about last week.  
She also felt smug that she was keenly aware of how closely Andy watched Allison. He appeared more agitated than he had the day before, his forehead creased in a worried look as he watched her move tables and settle in among the Brains. Allison never appeared to notice him.  
Until the end of lunch period. Claire found herself watching them often, so she wasn't surprised that she happened to see the exact moment Allison's eyes rose from the table and met Andy's.   
There was no hesitation, no searching for him, she simply raised her eyes. She'd known all along where he was and that he was watching her. Claire's gaze swiveled to find Andy frozen in his seat, Allison's acknowledgement paralyzing him, even when one of his buddies jostled him. Allison's gaze seared across the lunchroom for only a few seconds, but it was intense and raw and left Claire feeling she'd intruded on a private moment.   
Then Allison was gazing at her tabletop again. As though nothing had happened. Andy looked crestfallen, entirely incapable of looking away from her. Claire was almost relieved for Andy when Brian started talking to Allison, because the extra movement allowed Andy to blink and look away. Brian kept talking to Allison as he and the other Brains rose from the table to leave. She shook her head in response then sat there, alone, staring at the tabletop. She didn't even look up when the rest of Andy's lunch mates raucously shot from their table and out the cafeteria door, dragging Andy with them.  
The scene stayed burned in Claire's memory for the rest of the day.   
Which is why John was able to surprise her.   
She'd spent the past two days actively looking for him, her body tingling on high alert and waiting for his appearance. But all afternoon her mind drifted.  
She was alone as she left her locker and turned into the short hallway that led outside. Most of her friends had declared her "in a mood" and given up on her for the day. That was fine. She really wanted nothing more than to get home, to be away from her friends, away from Allison and Andy's drama. Not to mention the constant anticipation that she'd run into John.  
The throng of people in front of her parted, and since she didn't she was left staring at a pair of grungy black combat boots. The scent of cigarette smoke drifted towards her, pine soap mingling just underneath. Without thinking, she inhaled, startling when the scent ricocheted through her body, tendrils of excitement reaching all the way to her toes. She might have groaned. She wasn't sure.  
That smell. Even the first time she noticed his scent it had aroused her. He’d boldly lit up in detention at 10:00 in the morning, and instead of gagging and complaining, she’d stolen long peeks at him while he pretended he didn’t notice her watching. She’d fallen asleep to the smell and had unsettling dreams that made her look differently at him when she woke.  
The scent was even stronger now. She couldn’t think clearly. Slowly her eyes rose. Past the ratty pants, past the same red flannel shirt he'd worn Saturday, the one she'd used to pull him closer when they kissed, and finally past the shitty grin to his confusingly somber eyes.  
She sucked in another breath, this time in an effort to steady herself, but his scent scrambled her brain again. And those eyes. His eyes slayed her.  
"Hey, Princess," he said, though it was so quiet he may have only mouthed the words. Students flowed around them, nothing but blurs in the corners of her eyes. So unimportant. John kept the shitty grin on his face, as though he were mocking her, but that seemed unimportant, too, because his eyes stayed locked on hers and were definitely not mocking her. Those were filled with heat.   
"Hey," she whispered. His shitty grin dropped for about an eighth of a second, and by the time he'd slapped it back into place, he was somehow a full step closer to her. So close his red flannel shirt brushed against the hand that clasped her books to her chest, so close she had to tilt her chin up to keep their eyes locked together. His scent consumed her and she wondered if she looked as flustered as she felt.  
But then he slipped around her, his chest brushing against her shoulder, eyes locked on hers. She turned her head to follow him, then felt compelled to turn her body as well, to make sure she didn't lose sight of him even though it felt like he was dragging her with him. Within a few steps, they'd switched places, still facing each other, and she expected him to smirk in victory.  
He didn't. He didn't necessarily drop the shitty grin, but he didn't deepen it either. He simply hovered over her, drinking her in, then backed away.   
She wondered why she wasn't smiling or saying goodbye or something as he backed away, but as his scent evaporated she realized if she said or did anything, it would probably be something stupid like begging him to come closer, then burying her nose into his chest. Right in front of all these people.  
So she let him go. After a few steps, his smile changed to match his eyes at the same time he turned and walked into the main hallway of the school.   
Claire gulped and closed her eyes. Almost instantly, another student bumped her shoulder and jarred her back to her reality. She was in a school doorway. People were everywhere. Panicked, she scanned the faces of the people around her. No one was looking. There wasn’t anyone important enough anyway.  
With a final glance towards the spot John disappeared, she turned and escaped outside. Two boys stood outside the entrance smoking cigarettes, and she thought she might wretch at the smell. She marveled at that for a minute, then walked to her car.

 

For the rest of the week Andy watched Allison, and for the rest of the week she ignored him. But not completely. She spared him one single glance a day that was so intense it probably did more to encourage him than if she'd stared back constantly.   
But she also started to smile at Brian's friends instead of staring at the table, and they in turn looked like they adored her. This made Andy scowl.  
All week Brian stopped by the Popular Girl table, and every time Diana and Sheila talked his ear off while Brian grinned in response. Everyone else ignored him, rolling their eyes and huffing whenever he showed up. By Thursday, Claire had had enough and when the eye rolling began, she simply got up and left the table. Samantha and Laurel moved to a different table that same day. Claire didn't feel too bad about it, especially since Sheila and Diana seemed to be hitting it off so well. They acted like long-lost sisters, anyone who watched would assume they'd been friends for years. It was infectious, and the rest of the Popular Girls, when made to choose between Samantha and Laurel's eye-rolling and Diana and Sheila's acceptance, chose the latter.   
Claire ran into John every day. It always flustered her, even though she kept herself on high alert watching for him and thought she was mentally prepared. He never said anything more than "Hey, Princess," but she always felt drained and empty afterwards, like she'd just been emotionally assaulted.   
On Friday, after the final school bell, she found Andy at his locker. It felt weird to approach one of her detention group and not feel awkward and defiant. She'd almost forgotten that talking to Andy wouldn't be considered a treason that needed to be justified, that she'd been safely allowed to socialize with him before detention.   
"How’re you doing?" she asked as she leaned against the locker next to his.  
He shrugged and threw a Chemistry textbook into his backpack. "Fine."  
"You're not acting fine."  
He dumped a different book into his backpack and removed the Chemistry book he'd just put in there, chucking it back into the locker. "I have a lot on my plate right now."  
"Have you talked with Brian?"  
Andy's jaw tightened. "No."  
Claire laughed gently and rolled her eyes. "He thinks he's going to start the next world peace movement by making the six of us best friends." She didn't have to tell him who "the six of us" were.  
"That's ridiculous," he declared, and removed the second text book from his backpack too, throwing it back into the locker next to the Chemistry book.  
She nodded and watched as he rearranged the books in his locker. "Are your friends giving you a hard time?" She asked quietly, even though no one was around who could hear.  
He stilled, nodded his head once, then allowed his entire body to slump. "Yeah," he admitted.  
"Because you're staring at Allison or because I've made friends with Brian and Sheila?" She leaned her head against the locker and gazed up at the ceiling. "Everyone knows we were in detention together last Saturday, and now here I am acting all weird and talking with Nobodys and Brains." She felt a stab of regret using the labels that used to roll off her tongue as fact, but she didn't mean it in a bad way this time, and hoped Andy would understand.  
He nodded into the locker, then shut it and leaned against it. He left all the books in the locker. "Both. They keep asking me if I'm going to turn weird next."  
Claire flinched at his words. She might have the situation under control at the Popular Girl table, but once everyone went their separate ways, there wasn't anything she could do to keep them from badmouthing her. She knew her friends were gossiping about her, just assumed this to be true, but this was the first time it had been verified to her face. Like it was a real thing now, the beginning of her fall from grace.   
"I can be popular and have unpopular friends," she insisted, though her voice sounded phony even to her.   
He sighed and as if by an unspoken cue, they turned in to face one another. It put their faces close and Claire took solace in it. Andy was struggling, too. He wouldn't shun her, he was here, unafraid of her, and he understood.  
"You can," he agreed. "Within a week or two, everyone will forget about you making friends with weirdos." He visibly flinched, but continued uninterrupted. "Just don't abandon your old friends. Soon they’ll forget all about it. And when that happens, everyone will think you're popular, but you have a quirk. Just like Diana. That girl will talk with anybody, but everyone's gotten used to it with her, and she's still popular. No biggie."  
Claire startled to think about Diana in that light. It was true, she'd just never thought about comparing Diana's situation to her own. Before detention, Claire herself had been guilty of trash-talking Diana, about her propensity to be nice to anyone. But it never occurred to Claire to drop her as a friend over it. Because it was clearly just a quirk. Andy was right. Diana was popular, but quirky. Popular with slight conditions attached.   
And now so was she.   
The thought relieved Claire but made her bristle at the same time. "Making friends with an unpopular kid is not a quirk."  
For the first time, Andy smiled. "It is in our world. You're quirky now."  
"And what does that make you?" she huffed. But it drove the smile from his face and she regretted it.  
He sighed and leaned his back into the locker. "I said it was acceptable to be quirky and have unpopular friends. I can't be friends with Allison."  
"Sure you can. I'm doing it."  
He gave her a look that told her in no uncertain terms she was missing the point. "Oh." She bit her lip. "Yeah, I guess that would be a little different."  
"It would. At this school I would be crucified if I started dating someone like Allison. It would be almost as bad as if you and John were dating."  
"What?" she squeaked, incredulous. She tried to ignore that her stomach flipped summersaults when he said "you and John".  
"Could you imagine the shit storm if you started dating someone like him?" He frowned and shook his head, as though he couldn't even imagine the consequences. Claire shook her head, too, but it was more to clear the provocative image of "you and John" from her mind. God, why was Andy putting these words into her head? "Making friends with unpopular kids in the lunch room is one thing, and that little bit of flirting you and John or me and Allison did at detention is no biggie," he continued. "But dating them? That would be another thing entirely."   
"I'm not dating John," she snapped even though she knew perfectly well that wasn't the point.  
"And I'm not dating Allison." He pressed his lips together and stared Claire right in the eyes. It took him a long time to push out his next words. "But I want to be." He shook slightly, as though hearing his own admission out loud had rocked him. "I really want to be. So I can't be friends with her. I'd lose everybody."  
His confession didn't surprise Claire as much as it seemed to surprise him. She'd spent all week watching him watch Allison, after all. But she hadn't thought about the dating problem like Andy had, because she'd just assumed he'd never do anything about his infatuation with Allison. He was right. It would ruin him. Why would he even consider dating her? Why would he be so stupid? She would never risk it. She would never, ever consider dating John.  
On cue, John was in her head, running his lips down her neck. In her daydream, she didn't seem to be wearing a shirt. Or a bra. Or anything that would stop the southward progression of his mouth on her body. She could practically feel his fingertips pressing into the small of her back.  
"You definitely shouldn't date her." It took Claire a second to realize she'd said the words out loud, and even then, she only figured it out because of the crestfallen look that crossed Andy's face. He'd been hoping she'd convince him otherwise.   
He seemed to recover quickly. More quickly than she did. By the time she realized what she said, the words were already cutting her open, disappointment spilling everywhere.   
"Yeah, you're right." He pushed away from the locker, swayed on his feet for a second, then walked away without another word.   
That night Claire's dad told her he had to go on a business trip to New York City for the weekend, and asked if she wanted to come along to do some shopping. Her mother thought it was a terrible idea, so Claire went. She spent a ton of money, but still went back to school on Monday feeling shitty.


	5. Chapter 5 - Andy and Allison!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still told from Claire's point of view, but if you want to find out how Andy and Allison finally got together, this is it!

The following week plodded by pretty much the same. Andy stared at Allison from across the lunchroom, Brian braved a few minutes visiting the Popular Girl table, and Allison continued charming the Brains. They had entirely accepted her as one of their own. More than one of their own, actually. They idolized her in a way that wasn't extended even to Claire when she stopped by the table, and Allison relished in it.  
"You're not the queen here," Brian joked one day. Claire huffed at him, but the thought pleased her in a warm and fuzzy way. She didn’t understand why.  
John stopped saying "Hey, Princess," every time her saw her, but she still saw him in the halls, and she felt his eye contact all the way down in her toes. Something a little more electric rather than warm and fuzzy.  
And it turned out Andy had been right. As long as Claire acted like nothing was wrong with her new friendships and didn't try to intermingle them too much, her old friends were willing to forget that she occasionally touched the untouchables. It helped that Sheila's status was wavering now. She was accepted as a permanent fixture at the Popular Girl table, even Laurel and Samantha moved back to the lunch table without comment or drama. But she was integrating outside the lunchroom, too. When the weather shot into unheard of high temperatures for April in Illinois, the Popular Girls took every opportunity to sneak outside and sun on the school's athletic fields, and Sheila was always invited.  
So Brian became Claire's only known quirk. That didn't seem too overwhelming.  
By Friday, Claire wondered how far she could push her luck, and she went straight to The Brains to talk with Brian before going to sit at her usual table. Allison hadn't shown up yet, so when the Brain table turned into a mini food fight, she and Brian walked across the room and leaned against the empty cafeteria line railing.  
"I thought that rowdy boy thing was something only Jocks did," she commented.  
He snorted in nerdy way and shook his head at her. "God, Claire, no. Don't you watch anyone else at all? That rowdy boy thing is just a guy thing, not a Jock thing."  
She shrugged and swept her gaze from the food covered Brain table to the pushing and shoving boys at Andy's Jock table. Aside from a few more muscles and a few less glasses, the Jock table acted exactly the same. "Boys will be boys," Brian muttered, almost to himself. Claire grinned at the thought.  
"So why aren't you pestering Andy and John to sit with you?" she asked.  
"I don't need to "pester" Andy if I'm already "pestering" Allison," he retorted with air quotes. "He'll come around soon enough."  
"Whatever," she muttered under her breath.  
He ignored her. "And you know why I don't bother John."  
"Because you're scared of him."  
"Damn straight. Also, I don't think he's in this lunch period. If he is, he always skips it."  
She grinned at him then scanned the room to see if all the boys acted like Andy and Brian's friends. She felt a small rush at her new-found ability to notice people she'd never noticed before. The school was so much bigger than she'd realized, and contained such a variety of people.  
"What's Andy's problem?" she wondered aloud when her gaze drifted back to him.  
Brian looked at the Jock table, then glanced at his own table. "Huh. I don't know, Allison's not even here yet."  
Andy’s face was twisted, raw and tense, almost identical to the way it had looked at detention when he confessed what he'd done to get in there. That day, when Andy spoke, Claire had cried. She'd never before heard someone speak so brutally honest, had never felt a person's pain as though it was her own. She remembered fixating on the way his emotions thundered across his face.  
He looked the same way now, his anguished gaze bouncing between his tightly clasped hands and something across the room.  
As one, Claire and Brian followed his gaze. At the otherwise empty table, Allison once again sat by herself. This time, she didn't stare vacantly at the table top. This time, she sat with her head held tall, her hair pulled from her face, her eyes staring unflinchingly across the room.  
Right at Andy. As though she were daring him.  
Later, Claire would wonder how much time actually passed. It felt like weeks went by as she and Brian leaned against the cafeteria railing, neither speaking, heads swinging as one between the drama unfolding between Andy and Allison.  
A friend elbowed him. Andy snapped at him. Allison stared.  
Andy looked at his hands, face screwed up. Allison stared.  
Andy risked another glance. A single eyebrow raised on Allison's forehead, challenging.  
Andy looked away again. Allison stared anyway.  
Then, with no visible warning, as though he felt he had to do it quick if he was going to do it at all, Andy shoved himself to his feet and walked across the lunchroom.  
Claire felt Brian elbow her, but she was already gawking. "Oh my God," Brian muttered. "Is he really doing it?"  
"No way," she responded. "He wouldn't."  
But he was. Andy strode across the room with a purpose so fierce she'd have thought he was about to compete in a wrestling tournament. Upon reaching Allison's table he slammed to a halt, then hovered awkwardly. Her challenging stare melted, leaving behind a soft, sweet smile and eyes that looked at him with a shyness that looked endearing even to Claire. She could only imagine how that gaze was affecting Andy.  
"Claire," Brian whispered. "Look."  
She pulled her eyes from Andy and Allison to look at what Brian was gesturing at. All the Jocks from Andy's table were standing now, looking across the lunchroom to see what their buddy was doing. Their mouths hung open, all their brows pinched together in confusion. Claire's friends were doing the same, as was the vast majority of the lunchroom.  
Everyone was wondering what the hell Andy was doing.  
"I guess you're not going to be the main story around here anymore," Brian whispered to Claire just as Andy sat across from Allison, causing the low rumble of talk throughout the room to increase an octave. Allison beamed at him and lay a hand palm up on the table. Andy didn't hesitate, just took her hand in his and leaned in, his body straining towards hers.  
"This is going to devastate him," Claire shook her head.  
Brian glared at her. "Jesus, Claire. Get over yourself. I keep thinking you're changing but then you say something stupid like that.” He gestured at Andy and Allison. “Maybe this is the start of the rest of his life. Maybe everything changes for the better. For both of them."  
"Or maybe he...he..."  
Claire completely forgot what she was saying. One second she had a fully formed argument ready to hurl at Brian, the next second John was leaning in the entrance of the cafeteria, watching her.  
He was only ten feet or so from Allison and Andy, but they hadn't noticed him. They weren't noticing anyone. And Brian, after snorting at Claire, turned his attention back to the lovebirds.  
Which left Claire alone with John.  
He held her gaze for only a few seconds before glancing toward Allison and Andy, sweeping the lunch room, then landing on her again, somehow startling her. With no change in expression, he backed out of the cafeteria and disappeared. Claire actually twitched forward, the tug to follow was so strong.  
"I have to go," she waved offhandedly towards Brian, never looking to see if he heard her. She made it all the way past Andy and Allison and into the doorway before she came to her senses. What did she think she was going to do, track him down? And then what? She paused at the doorway and glanced back into the lunchroom. No one was watching her. No one even seemed to be watching Allison and Andy anymore, his defection from Jock to Basket Case Loner apparently worth only three minutes of attention.  
Feeling foolish, Claire peeked around the corner rather than take the step through. John walked away, near the end of the corridor. The tug pulled at her again and she followed it through the door. At the end of the corridor, John turned into a classroom. He never turned around to look for her.  
She walked down the corridor towards the classroom, her brain arguing with her the entire way, begging her to go back to the lunchroom and give up on whatever it was she was about to do. She had a really hard time ignoring it. But she somehow managed, somehow made her way to the entrance of the classroom she'd seen John disappear into. The door was propped open. "Shut it behind you," John's voice called to her.  
So she did.  
He was smoking, of course.  
"I can't believe you're smoking in school," Claire snipped.  
He smiled from his seat on the teacher's desktop, the type of smile that would look sweet if not for the person it was attached to. "You smoked in school."  
"That was different."  
"Because it was illegal pot instead of just a cigarette?"  
Ugh, that smirk drove her crazy. She just wanted to snatch the cigarette from his mouth and smack him with it. Then she remembered the burns on his arm and flinched. "No. It's different because the school was empty that day. Only one person could catch us. There are thousands of people in this building today."  
"And any one of them could walk in on us."  
"Of course."  
"And would it be worse if they caught you with someone who was smoking, or if they caught you with me?"  
She glared instead of answering the question. "Did you lure me in here just to pick an argument?"  
That smile again. "What makes you think I lured you in here?"  
She huffed, then flushed. "Didn't you?"  
The smile faded and he took a drag of the cigarette, blowing out the smoke while his eyes traveled across every inch of her blushing face. "Yes," he finally said, a serious gaze on his face at last. "I did lure you in here."  
"For what?" she asked in barely a whisper, her hands clasped in front of herself, firmly so he wouldn't see them shake.  
"I'm not sure," he admitted. "I didn't think you'd actually come."  
Claire felt a smile tug at her lips at the same time her shaking hands calmed. "So now that you have me to yourself, you don't know what you're going to do with me? Is that what you’re saying?"  
What. The Fuck. Was she doing?  
Her brain almost jumped ship from her body in protest of words that sounded strangely like flirting coming from her mouth. But she couldn't stop. "I thought John Bender knew everything about girls. Surely he'd know what to do with little ole' me."  
Much to her satisfaction, his mouth dropped open, cigarette hovering half way to his mouth, forgotten. For a few seconds she held her advantage, calmly smiling as he gawked, his eyes bare of scorn or heat, probably the first time he'd ever looked at her without one or the other. Eventually, the cigarette made it all the way to his lips, but instead of inhaling the smoke, he let it trickle out of his mouth in meandering waves. For reasons she couldn't explain, Claire found this extremely sexy. Her heart clawed into her throat, and her brief advantage was lost.  
Biting her bottom lip, she looked away, closing her eyes for a moment to take a calming breath. John made a strangled noise when she did this, but she ignored him. She waited until she heard him take another drag of his cigarette before attempting to look again.  
Just as the end-of-lunch bell rang. The hallway would be swarming with students in a matter of seconds. Students who might have their next class in the room she stood with John, alone.  
Panic bloomed in the pit of her stomach, though she wasn't sure if the cause was the thought of someone walking in on them or the fact that John suddenly stood from his perch on the desk and strode toward her. He stopped only when their faces were inches apart and she had to keep herself from drawing in a noisy, embarrassing inhale. God, she loved the smell of him.  
"Andy and Allison put on quite a show out there today," he commented, his voice almost accusatory. Her head swam from confusion. When had they changed topics? "Could you handle putting on a show, Princess?"  
The panic blossomed into a full-blown bouquet and consumed everything, even the bud of desire his scent had injected into her. She thought she hid the panic, but he frowned at her so obviously she was kidding herself. For a few seconds, neither of them moved and she couldn't decide if she wished she could take back her reaction or not. Then his face hardened and he stepped back, taking one last drag from his nearly exhausted cigarette. "I didn't think so," he drawled, his voice once again arrogant.  
The cigarette dropped between them and he ground it into the linoleum floor as he stepped around her. The shitty smirk was plastered back in place, his presence shoved in her face in that way he knew bothered her. "I'm sorry," she whispered, quickly so maybe he would stop, but he didn't.  
"Save your virginal quaking for someone who cares, Queenie." She heard the door swing open, the clamor of throngs of students raise to a dull roar, then the door slam shut again.  
First she wanted to huff in indignation, then she felt like crying. She briefly considered running after him. But in the end, she simply swept the cigarette butt into the corner and slowly counted to ten, to make sure he'd be gone and no one would see her leave the same empty room. Then she left.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the last reunion chapter for awhile - looking forward to posting the Shermer High School, 1984 chapters!

"Why would John ask about me?" Claire asked Allison. "He hated me."  
"I don't think he hated you," Allison protested.  
"No," Claire sighed. "He hated me."  
"The last time I saw him, no hating was mentioned. He seemed genuinely interested in whether I'd heard from you." Allison peered intently at Claire. "Did something happen between you two after detention? I mean, you were obviously flirted with each other that day, but you never mentioned him after."  
"No," Claire mumbled, the lie falling from her lips as easily as it had in high school. "And he wasn't flirting with me at detention, he was making fun of me for being popular." Allison still looked doubtful. "What did you tell him?" Claire asked, anxious to get Allison back on track.  
"Nothing, really. I just gave him the basics of what I knew. Married, one kid, living in California." She shrugged and sipped her drink. "I didn't know about the divorce, sorry."  
Claire waved her hand impatiently. "It's not important." She bit her lip in annoyance at her indecision, then grabbed another napkin from the holder and folded it upon itself a few times, avoiding Allison's eyes. "How is he?" she finally asked, angry when she felt her face flush.  
"He's alright, doing better now than the last time I saw him." Allison glanced at Claire. "I don't suppose you know."  
Claire shook her head.  
"His wife died about three years ago. Breast cancer."  
"Oh my god."  
Allison sighed. "It was horrible. They had two little kids and she died within six months of being diagnosed. He was a wreck at the funeral."  
Claire pressed a hand to her chest to contain the heavy feeling. "That's awful. Poor John. I didn't know. Why didn't anyone tell me?"  
Allison shrugged. "I don't know. I should have, I'm sorry. It didn’t seem like an email conversation and you and I never talk on the phone." She brightened a bit. "But he's doing better now. It was just a few months ago that I ran into him. He said it had been a rough couple years for him and the girls, but they were really starting to live life again. If I remember right, he owns a tire place or something like that." She paused for a moment then laughed. "He looks good, too. Stayed fit, unlike Bozo over there," she snorted as she gestured across the room to her husband. "Which is ironic, when you think about it. Andy was the Jock and he got a middle-age tire around the middle, John was the Criminal who smoked and he still looks really good." She startled a bit at her words. "Not that I think Andy looks bad, I didn't mean that, I'm just making a point..."  
It was enough for Claire to loosen up, and she laughed. "Andy is a good looking guy, I knew what you meant." They grinned at each other for a moment before Claire remembered that John had asked about her and the flush crept back into her cheeks. Allison, thank God, took the cue and changed the subject away from John.   
"So...it’s been a few years since you and I talked. Tell me what you've been up to. You and Evan moved recently, right? Where to?”  
"Not that recently, it’s been about three and a half years. Laguna Hills. About an hour south of our old place in LA."  
"Ah. And you’re still a make-up artist? Are you working in the movie industry yet?" She laughed as she asked. "Isn't that what all Californians do? Something with movies?"  
Claire giggled. "Actually, you're not wrong. I do work in the movie industry now."  
Allison gasped. "What?! Shut up, I was joking!"  
Claire nodded and grinned, pleased with herself. "Yup. I supervise a make-up team for Laurentine Cosmetics. We contract out to different studios, so I've worked on all sorts of movie stars."  
Allison squealed. "Like who?"  
"Right now we're working on a movie starring Anthony Michael Hall, that guy who played the nerdy teenager in all those 80s movies.”  
Allison's jaw dropped. "For real? I didn't know he was still acting. He doesn't still look all dorky, does he?"   
"He's just getting back into acting. And he definitely outgrew that awkward teenage thing. Now he has a hot model wife and a rugged, outdoorsy look going on."  
Allison laughed and stared at Claire in amazement. "Wow. You have quite the life, don't you? I mean, movie stars and warm weather, you just have everything going for you!"  
Her words must have made Claire startle more than she realized, because Allison's face fell. "Oh, I'm sorry. What a stupid thing to say." She reached across the table and clasped Claire's hand in hers, in a familiar way that Claire never experienced from any of her California friends. She'd forgotten how it felt to have another adult genuinely care about her and actually show their feelings. Allison's easy show of affection suddenly made Claire feel extremely shitty about her life.   
"I hate my job, actually. And I hate living in California. I hate everything out there except Evan."  
"Really? Why?"  
Claire blinked and tried to form an actual thought around the claims she'd just made. She'd surprised herself by saying out loud what she'd been afraid to admit even to herself for so long. But it was true. She knew it was true. Even sitting in this tacky, stereotypically Midwestern bowling alley bar, she felt homesick. She missed tacky. It felt real, somehow. "I don't know if it's the social norm out there or the movie industry or if it's just me, but all my friends and co-workers are so shallow. I feel like I never left the high school drama behind. Even my marriage never felt grown up or real." She shrugged. "I need to get Evan out of there, let him grow up somewhere real."   
"What about Evan's dad? Would he want you to move?"  
Claire waved an impatient hand. "He wouldn't care, he only wants to see him once a year anyway. He moved away after we separated and our divorce states he gets Evan once a year for two weeks every summer. And only once a year."  
"Oh," Allison frowned. "That's a little weird."  
"Not for Nick. He's pretty self-absorbed."  
Allison looked like she wanted to make another scathing remark, but bit her tongue. "Are you really thinking about moving? Where would you go?"  
"I don't know," Claire admitted. "I haven't actually thought about it much."  
"Don't your parents still live here? They'd probably enjoy being able to spend more time with you and Evan."  
"Only my dad still lives here. My mom moved to Florida after they divorced." She thought about it for a moment. "But he would like to see more of Evan. He used to fly out to see us a few times a year, but that slowed down this past winter when he started having health problems."  
Allison grinned over her drink. "There you go then, move back here. We can be best friends again and Evan could see more of his grandpa."  
Claire snorted. "Right. I'm sure there's a booming cosmetic industry just waiting for me in Illinois." She waved a hand impatiently. "Enough about my problems. I'm probably just going through a mid-life crisis. I don't need to unload on you at our reunion."  
"You can always call me and we can talk about it more." Allison offered. "Of course, I'd just encourage you to move back here. Hey!" Her attention drew away from Claire and she jumped from her chair. "Look who Andy found!"  
Claire tensed and plastered a nervous smile on her face before turning. But when she saw who it was, after she beat down the short pang of disappointment that it wasn't John, she smiled for real and jumped from her own chair. "Brian!"  
Brian whooped loudly as he pulled both Allison and Claire into a bear hug. The three of them laughed as they hugged, then laughed more when Andy caught up and tackled them all.  
"Brian!" Claire gushed, "You grew up! You look incredible!"  
That was an understatement. Clearly a late bloomer, Brian was still tall and blonde, but had filled out considerably and had a strong, chiseled face that boasted a sharp goatee and mustache. It was a look Claire usually felt should be reserved for a select few movie stars but she had to admit, worked fabulously on Brian. He looked like a trim yuppie Norse god.  
"Don't worry, I only look like a grown-up," he responded with an exuberant kiss on Claire's cheek. He backed away and pulled a beautiful blonde woman to his side. She shared his Scandinavian good looks and wore her long hair in thick dreadlocks. "Claire, this is my wife, Sarah. Sarah," he said with a flourish of his hands, "this is Claire."   
Sarah flashed a smile that lit up the dank, dark bowling alley and hugged Claire. "You have no idea how great it is to finally meet you," she said as she pulled away. "Hey, Allison," she added.   
"Hey, girl!" The two, obviously quite familiar with each other, hugged.  
"I was beginning to wonder if these three hadn't gone collectively insane and made you up," Sarah grinned at Claire.   
Claire smiled, but she had to force it over a twisting pain in her stomach. She'd never imagined her detention friends, the only people from high school she really cared about, carrying on their lives together, without her. It had just been easier to assume since she didn't keep in touch, they hadn't either. But of course they had. They'd all been so much better about understanding friendship than she. She'd always focused on the wrong things.  
"I'm real," Claire said over a forced laugh. "I just don't come back from California too often."  
Sarah smiled affectionately at Brian. "He talks about that detention all the time. It was a really important day for him."  
"It's true," Brian insisted. "That day was game changing for all of us, I think."  
"It was," Andy agreed as he pecked his wife on the cheek. She beamed at him again, and even with all the good feelings flowing around her, Claire felt a surge of irritation. Or maybe it was jealousy. She couldn't decide.  
"So," Brian declared as he pulled a few more chairs up to the table. "With the exception of Sheila, obviously," he paused and dipped his head for a moment, "we're all here except John." He eyed Claire as he said John's name, but was in the process of sitting and turned towards Claire anyway, so she didn't think anyone else noticed. "I guess so," she agreed with a casual shrug, like she'd barely noticed, and Brian winked at her.   
Brian was the only person who knew everything. Sheila and Diana knew about a single incident with John, but Claire never confided in them about what transpired after.   
Brian, on the other hand, knew all the gritty details about Claire and John. And for that reason, because he knew the truth about their relationship, he'd never been supportive.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a really short chapter - sorry! The next installment will be a long one :)

Saturday, April 7, 1984

"This is better than your Saturday two weeks ago, I'll bet!" Diana chirped.   
Claire shared a look with Sheila. Truthfully, they both would repeat that Saturday every weekend for the rest of the school year if they could, and had confided in each other as much. But they didn't expect Diana to understand, so they nodded in agreement. "It is," Claire agreed. "I'm glad you two asked me to go shopping. I really needed this.”  
She'd spent last Saturday shopping her way through Manhattan, spending way over her spending limit, but it felt empty. Today, in only two hours at the local mall with Diana and Sheila, Claire felt happier than she had in weeks. And she hadn't even bought anything. Mainly because her mother flipped about how much she spent and took away the credit card, but also because she didn't need to buy anything, had simply enjoyed trying on clothes with her friends. Besides, when she saw something she couldn't live without, she had the hundred dollar bill her father had slipped her on the way out the door.  
"Should we have lunch before round two of shopping?" Diana asked as they walked across the parking lot towards the second mall on their list for the day. "I was thinking that new Mexican place, the one that makes the yumm-o guacamole?"  
"That sounds good, I just - oh!" Claire glanced around herself, even patted her shoulders, but she didn't have it. "I forgot my purse in the car."  
"Good thing you remembered right away, I didn’t lock it. We'll wait for you over there," Diana said, pointing at the sidewalk in front of the mall. Claire rushed back to the car, grabbed her purse, and headed back.  
Right as she was about to cross the street to join her friends, a car pulled up from behind her and turned in her path. "Hey! Watch it!" She yelled, but the rusty brown car angled even further in, blocking her. She slapped the roof with her bare hand. "What the hell? What do you think you're -?"  
The driver's door flew open, and across the roof of the car stood John.  
"Hey, Princess," he drawled with a grin. It wasn't his typical shitty grin, but it wasn't exactly a friendly smile, either. It reminded Claire of the smile he'd given her in detention when he wondered out loud if she was a virgin. There'd been a challenge in that smile, he'd been daring her to answer him. He was daring her now. "Get in the car."  
She snapped to her senses and scowled. "Not even a please?"  
"If I said please, would you get in the car?"  
"No."  
"See, I knew that. So I left it out. Figured it would increase the chances of you listening."  
Over his shoulder she saw Diana and Sheila watching from the sidewalk. Diana's mouth hung open, a look of revulsion stamped on her face. Sheila's mouth hung open too, but with the corners twitched into a smile, like she'd just walked in on a surprise party. "Claire?" Diana called, stepping forward. "Is he bothering you?"  
"It's alright," Claire insisted, putting a hand up. "I'm just talking to John for a minute." Diana's brow furrowed, but when Sheila grabbed her elbow and whispered intently in her ear, she stayed. "But he looks like such a Burnout," Diana's voice carried. "Won't he get Claire in trouble?"  
John rolled his eyes and glanced over his shoulder, nodding in acknowledgement towards Sheila then shooting Diana an amused smirk. "I promise I'm not kidnapping her," he called. But when his head swung back to Claire, his eyes looked heavy in a promising way. "Yet," he mouthed.  
Claire stifled a gasp, then tried to hide it by huffing and folding her arms across her chest. "I'm not getting in the car. Aren't you supposed to be in detention?"  
His smile turned sly. "Of course. I'm skipping."  
"You're skipping detention? Isn't skipping why you were in detention in the first place?"  
He shot her a don’t-be-stupid look. They were both very aware of why the other was in detention that day. "No, that's why you were in detention. I was in detention for pulling a fire alarm. Today's detention, obviously, was for telling Vernon to eat my shorts." He shrugged as though it were out of his hands. "Sort of. You were there. You know."  
"Yeah," she responded, remembering the viciousness between John and Mr. Vernon, how hard it’d been to watch John fight a battle he couldn't win. She suddenly wasn't feeling as hostile towards him.  
After a moment he rested his elbows on top of the car, leaning in as close as the roof allowed. It didn't feel like a very wide car. "Yesterday in the classroom. You said you weren't up to a show."  
"I didn't say that."  
"You implied it. Either way, I get it. Truthfully, I'm not up to it either."  
Claire frowned at him. "Then why are you here?"  
He gestured around them. "We're not in school. There's no one watching us."  
"Diana and Sheila are watching us."  
He glanced over his shoulder again. "Sheila's good. Would the other one spill all over school if you left with me?"  
Claire looked at Diana, deep in earnest conversation with Sheila, probably getting an earful of information about John and Claire's flirting at detention. Diana caught Claire's gaze and gave her a shrug and a thumbs-up, accompanied with a confused face that told Claire as clearly as if she'd said it out loud, "You're insane, but I've got your back, whatever you need."  
"She wouldn't say anything," Claire admitted to John.  
His challenging grin returned. "So get in."  
"And if I don't?"  
He shrugged as if he didn't care, but his smile broadened. "If you don't get in, you don't get in. I drive away and you go on your little shopping trip." His eyes looked heavy again, even with the broad smile in place. "But I think you want to spend the afternoon with me, especially since I can take you someplace nobody will be watching."  
"Where?" Claire surprised herself by asking. She didn’t even hesitate.  
He smirked. "It's a surprise."  
She stared him down, but after a reasonable amount of time to tell him no had passed and she still hadn't said it, she glanced at Diana and Sheila again. Her friends grinned and waved her away. "Go on," Diana shouted. "We're good."  
It surprised Claire that Diana trusted John without even knowing him, but it surprised her more to realize she did know him and was considering getting in the car anyway.  
"Claire," John's voice whispered, drawing her attention back to him. "Claire," he repeated once he'd commanded her attention. "I don't always want to wonder."  
She blinked. "Wonder what?"  
"What would've happened if you got in the car."  
She froze and stared at him for what felt like a long time, because she suddenly knew she was avoiding the inevitable. She'd known this would happen, knew there'd be a day when he asked her for more than she was comfortable giving and that she'd give it to him anyway. Not sex, this wasn't about anything physical. This was about her reputation. She was handing it to him a on a platter. She wanted him to take it, but she was counting on him to protect it, too. And she wasn't entirely certain he would.  
But she didn't want to wonder, either.  
He was still staring at her. She felt locked in his gaze, unable to break away. She didn’t even want to break away. “Come with me, Princess,” he said as he finally pulled his eyes from hers and slid into the driver’s seat.   
Her eyes squeezed shut, a feeble attempt to shut everything out so she could think. But it was pointless. She couldn’t think logically   
All she could tap into was disappointment that he was no longer staring at her.  
Her eyes shot open.   
And she got in the car.


	8. Chapter 8

After a half an hour ride, with little said except occasional comments about the mixed tape John popped into the cassette player, they pulled into the parking lot of Great America.   
"We're going to an amusement park?" Claire marveled as the Sky Whirl spun into sight above the tree line. She hadn't been to Great America since a class trip in the seventh grade.  
"Yup," he grinned.  
"There are tons of people at amusement parks. I thought you said no one would be watching."  
"No one will be watching us. Besides, it's not officially open yet, doesn't open to the public for a few weeks."  
She eyed him, then turned to take in the entrance of the amusement park. She could clearly see people on the rides. "If it's not officially open yet, who are all those people?"  
"Employee's families and other honored guests." He air-quoted honored guests, then for a moment looked vulnerable, as though afraid of her reaction. "My cousin works here, he said I could swing by if I wanted." He opened the car door and launched out of it in a rush. "It's stupid, I know," his voice carried back to her as she did the same.  
"No," she smiled over the roof of the car. It didn't seem quite so wide this time. "It's not stupid. I think it'll be fun."  
He leaned against the car and lit a cigarette, giving her a look that made her wonder if he was smirking or smiling at her. "Yeah? Do you know what would make it even more fun?"  
"What?"  
He slammed his door and walked around to meet her, offering a hand. "Breaking in."  
She hesitated, then took his hand. "Breaking into a place we're invited to go for free?"  
"Yup," he put on his shades and smirked. "I want you to try being bad again. You in?"  
She didn't hesitate a second time. "Yes."

They did have a great time. Breaking in was easy, John knew of a place the fence was broken behind the Whizzer roller coaster and they just waltzed in. It felt a little dangerous, but only mildly so, enough to give Claire a buzz without crossing the line into worrying.   
None of the food stands were open, since it was only a practice weekend for employee's families, but pizza had been delivered and was available at booths around the park. Claire was starving since she'd missed lunch, and John laughed when she scarfed down her third piece. "You must have to eat a lot of that sushi of yours to stay full." She tried to punch him in the arm, but missed and almost dropped her pizza. He stayed out of reach until she finished.  
She laughed at him when he could barely walk in a straight line after riding the Tilt-O-Whirl, and he did the same when she had to cradle her head in her hands after the Spider. They rode every roller coaster, holding hands and screaming hysterically, and he made her snort through her nose laughing when he spent the entire swing ride trying to gain enough momentum to kick her. He snuck a cigarette at the top of the Sky Whirl and pretended he was going to jump off at the top, stopping the charade only when she pulled him back into their seat and linked her arm through his. “I’m holding you captive for your own good,” she claimed. They didn't say much the rest of that ride, but he smiled a lot.  
"What do you want to do next?" she asked as they walked.  
"I don't know, I haven't been here since I was a kid on a school trip, and we only have about a half hour left before they close."  
She frowned at her watch. It was 4:30. And even with the record warm temperatures she was starting to feel the persistent spring chill in the air. Especially since her brown leather jacket was more for show than for warmth. "One more ride? And then we go?"  
"Sure," he agreed, and stopped at the entrance to a ride. "Here's one we haven't been on. The Tunnel of -." The words slammed to a halt when his brain caught up with what he’d already said out loud, and Claire had to hold back a laugh when his cheeks reddened. It was nice to have it be him blushing for a change rather than her. "That's dumb," he muttered. "Let's go on something else."  
"You don't want to?" She asked, her laughter gone at the thought of not going on the Tunnel of Love with him. It was suddenly very important to her that he want to take her on this ride.  
"It's not that I don't want to," he protested, his voice cool and arrogant again, the first time she'd heard it all day. "It's just that I want you to have fun. This doesn't seem fun, that's all."  
"We'll just have to make our own fun," she said, then cringed, because it sounded raunchy even to her. But he didn't seem to notice, he was too busy being arrogant or flustered or whatever it was he was being as he looked around for another ride. She took a deep breath and placed a hand on his arm. "John, I want to go on the Tunnel of Love with you." He returned his gaze to hers, staring at her uncertainly. "We can make our own fun," she insisted. It didn't feel quite so suggestive the second time.  
He still didn't say okay, or anything else for that matter, so she took his hand and led him through the empty turnstiles. She smiled to herself, pleased at how willingly he followed her, how easily she'd convinced him.  
A lone girl monitored the ride platform, biting her nails and staring vacantly into the running water. She sighed when they walked up to the yellow line, like they were bothering her, then directed them into a bobbing boat. In a bored voice, she listed off rules of the ride, which basically amounted to nothing more than keep buckled. John took off the buckle the second the boat entered the darkened tunnel then hesitated only a second before slinging an arm around Claire's shoulders and pulling her into him.  
"I'm glad you got in the car," he said without turning towards her, his voice echoing softly in the dark.   
"I'm glad, too," she admitted. After a few seconds of silence, she rested her head on his shoulder. It was such a simple thing, but it felt like the boldest move she'd ever made. He released a long, pent-up breath at the same time the awkward tension left her own body.  
A tinny instrumental version of Journey's "Faithfully" began playing, hearts and cupids blinking to the beat. Claire thought it was the tackiest thing she'd ever seen, and was about to raise her head so they could laugh together, but then she felt John's breath in her hair.  
It was warm and tickling and felt like he was caressing her without any actual touch. But then his lips did touch the top of her head and she froze. He lingered there, tentatively, his lips pressed into her hair. After a few moments Claire could no longer stand the tension of not responding and she pressed her entire body into him, nuzzling her face into his chest and pulling at his shirt to draw him closer. She felt his mouth pull into a smile against the top of her head, and the sensation made her think it might be possible to explode from desire after all.  
She closed her eyes and inhaled, his smoky-pine scent hitting that sweet spot in her brain, sending a jolt through her. His free hand traced along her jawline and around the back of her neck, tangling gently in her hair. A shiver ran down her spine, making her groan softly. His breath hitched at the sound and he exhaled heavily into her hair.   
"Claire," he rumbled into her, and even though his mouth moving against her head was driving her crazy with pleasure, she pulled away from his chest to tilt her face to his.   
She thought he would dive for her lips immediately, had perhaps intended to, but he hesitated and the boat jolted against something at the same time strobe lights assaulted the room. John's grip steadied her as they startled and blinked, momentarily blinded. When her vision cleared, John wasn't focused on her lips anymore.   
For what felt like an eternity, he stared at her, his hand tracing along her neck, her ear, her jawline, his fingertips insistent but gentle. His eyes travelled around her face, following his hand as it trailed along her skin. Claire, once so timid under scrutiny, never before allowing a boy to look too close for fear he'd find something wrong, reveled in it. She watched him watch her with rapt attention, unable to tear her eyes away, wondering if it were possible for him to find her soul if he looked any more intently.  
But she must have wanted more, because with no conscious decision on her part she grasped his t-shirt and pulled. His eyes shot back to hers. There was no hesitation this time.   
She'd never been kissed before. At least, not like this. Even the first time he kissed her, after detention when everyone else had left, he'd been gentle, slow. She'd felt safe. That kiss was good, but it felt sad and wasn’t anything that kept her up at night.  
This time there was such a fierce hunger forcing her lips open, she thought it might eat her alive. The intensity of it all, of his lips covering hers, of his hand cupping the back of her head as though he couldn't get close enough, of the shaking of his breath around their kissing, all of it ripped her open, exposing her.  
She'd never felt so alive.  
She hadn't meant to attack him in return, hadn't even realized she was capable of such impulsiveness, but when one of her hands clawed at his chest and the other pulled at his long, thick hair, forcing him closer, she thought she'd never want to let him go. Limbs tangled, teeth scraped, hisses of breath escaped, and all she could think was how devastatingly sexy this was, and how she'd never be able to enjoy a normal kiss again without remembering this one.   
John's palms cupped her jaw, his fingers snaking around the back of her neck, and she shivered, hoping he'd pull her closer. She wasn't even sure it would be possible, but if there was so much as a sliver of air between them, she wanted it gone. Instead, his fingers tightened for a brief moment, then began pushing her away.  
"No," she demanded, shaking her head against his lips and holding tighter.  
He moaned against her mouth but continued using his hands to push her away, his mouth following hers even as his hands worked to separate them, his lips desperate to hang on. Finally, even with both of them straining to stay connected, he pulled his lips from hers. Claire gasped at the suddenness of it, of how empty she felt, so when John rested his forehead against hers, she tilted her mouth to his again.  
But he held her still, his breathing heavy, and after one more thwarted attempt, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to relax into him, forehead to forehead. She could still feel the closeness of his mouth, feel his breath caressing against her lips even as he struggled to steady it again.  
She began to shake. She wasn't sure why, wasn't sure if she was scared or excited by what just happened, but it made John pull his forehead from hers and study her face in the once again gentle pulses of light.  
"You alright?" he asked, his voice barely more than a breath.   
"Yes."  
"You're trembling."   
She tried to lower her face, didn't know what to say to him and inexplicably felt shy, or maybe even ashamed, but he tightened both hands and held her fast. "Is something wrong? Did I do something wrong?"  
She shook her head but he watched her closely, his eyes trying to dig the truth from hers.   
Without warning, they were flooded with full, natural light. Claire blinked a few times before the ride attendant materialized in front of them, helping a couple into a waiting boat. Claire and John snatched their hands from each other. It felt like a year passed as they waited for the other couple to hear their seatbelt lecture and be on their way, but finally they were back at the platform, the girl holding the boat as they scramble out. "Don't forget your pictures," she mentioned to their backs.   
"What?" They asked in unison, turning back to the platform girl. She smirked, her gaze a lot more interested in them now than she had been five minutes ago.   
"There's a bunch of cameras in the tunnel." She gestured to the sign behind her, the sign Claire hadn't seen upon entering, that she assumed John had missed, too. She wasn't sure exactly how they missed it, it was huge and clearly showed a series of pictures, four in a vertical row, photo booth style, of people enjoying The Tunnel of Love. There was even a largely-printed banner above it that reminded people to smile for the cameras. Claire gaped at the photos on the banner, noticing only that none of the smiling faces looked as entangled or compromised as she and John had been. Behind the ride attendant, the couple they'd just watched go into the tunnel materialized on the first of several black and white screens. Horrified, Claire turned and strode to the exit, hoping John would follow.  
"Just keep walking," she pleaded over her shoulder, her head ducked into her chest in a vain attempt to sneak by the kid in the photo booth. She hadn't made it more than ten feet when she realized John wasn't with her anymore. Surreptitiously, she peeked behind her, then groaned in exasperation when she saw him at the booth. The kid manning the counter grinned a toothy grin at John and put out his hand for a high-five. She didn't know if he got it, she was so embarrassed she turned her back and fumed while waiting for John to be done.  
"What are you doing?" she hissed when he finally walked up to her side.   
"Buying you a present," he replied, grabbing her hand as he passed.   
"You bought the pictures?"  
"Yup."  
"How bad were they?"  
He glanced back at her, surprised. "They aren't bad at all. In fact, I think we impressed a few people."  
She groaned and thrust her free hand out. "Let me see them."   
"Wait until we get to the car. We need to go now anyway, remember?"  
She nodded reluctantly and followed him to the car, fuming the entire way. Except for the moments she daydreamed about the kiss. But mostly she fumed.  
He opened the car door for her, which seemed weird, then slipped into the driver's side and drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, staring ahead. That also seemed weird.   
"Can I see them now?" she pestered.  
He drummed for a moment longer, then reached into his shirt pocket, taking out the picture strip. He stared at them for a long moment, then at her, then back at the pictures. With a sigh, he handed her the photo strip and resumed his drumming, eyes fixated at something past the car hood, deliberately not looking at her.  
It must be bad. With a pit yawning open in her stomach, she looked down.  
Four photos of her and John lined the strip, zoomed in much closer than she thought they'd be considering she hadn't even known the cameras were there. The top photo made her stop cold and gasp. She couldn't even look past it at the other three. Not because it showed them in a sordid embrace, as she feared, but because raw emotion was pouring from the image, stunning her with its honesty. In the picture, Claire was clutching John's shirt, her face buried into chest and her eyes shut, her mouth parted slightly. She appeared...aroused. Content. Happy. Ready to rip the shirt clutched in her hand right off him. She knew just by looking at the picture that here was a woman who'd found what she was looking for.   
And John simply looked gentle, far more so than she'd ever seen him look in real life. His head bowed to hers, eyes closed, lips pressed into her hair. One arm curled around her protectively, holding her tight. He too, looked content.  
It was the most intimate thing she'd ever seen.   
She glanced at John now, biting her lip, but he didn't acknowledge her, just continued to stare out the window and drum his fingers. Slowly, because she was afraid to look, she tuned back to the remaining three pictures.  
They were almost as frighteningly raw and intimate. The second was of them staring into each other's eyes. They both looked a little scared, or maybe awed, but the image made it clear they'd be attacking each other in mere seconds.   
The third photo was the embrace. It was as embarrassing as she'd thought it would be, but in a way that made her heart drum in her ears and her insides plunge to the pit of her stomach. Or somewhere lower. Hands were tangled in hair, mouths were smashed together and eyes were only half shut, creating a look of heavy lidded ecstasy. She felt her breath quicken looking at it, then slapped a hand over her mouth, mortified. She didn't look at John to see if he'd noticed.   
The fourth was of their foreheads touching, both of them slightly panting and clasping on to each other.   
If a photographer had wanted raw, sexy and passionate, it would have been hard to achieve it as perfectly as these candid shots had. They were perfect, in an awkward, embarrassing sort of way. So perfect, a twinge of discomfort began growing inside of her. More than a twinge, really.   
John Bender created these raw emotions. John. Bender. Local troublemaker, stereotypical Criminal Burnout, and before today, a major asshole.   
He'd done this to her.   
What did that make her?  
She swallowed nervously and dropped the photos to her lap, turning to John. "Well?" he asked, his attention still fixated at some unknown location outside the car. "What do you think?"  
"They're...sexy."  
He huffed and smiled for a tenth of a second. "Is that bad?"  
"No," she replied without thought, but then remembered that it might be. She was so confused. "Why would that be bad? Because you think I'm a prude?"  
"No, because kissing me and seeing actual proof that you kissed me are two totally different things."  
She nodded into her lap. She knew exactly what he meant. She also knew they were purposely avoiding any discussion about the real issue with the pictures. It wasn't that they kissed. She could kiss the geekiest boy in the school, and if someone took a picture she could laugh it off as a prank or a dare. Maybe even say it seemed like the sweet thing to do and she was just being nice. John was a good-looking guy, even with his station in life she could explain away a kiss. Even a wildly hot one. The third picture on the strip was the hottest and the easiest to deal with.  
It was the other three pictures that she'd never live down, were anyone to see them. She couldn't have looked more vulnerable, more into this Criminal boy. Anyone looking at the pictures would assume she had feelings for him, would accuse her of falling for the wrong type of boy.   
And perhaps in the moment, that had been true. But right now, with him sitting beside her in his rusty old car, she didn't know how she felt, except ashamed.   
She just wasn't sure what she was ashamed of.  
She offered him the photo strip and finally, he turned to face her. "Keep it. I bought it for you."  
She nodded and put it back in her lap so she could stare at it more. "You're being so nice today," she commented as he started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.   
"What can I say?" he responded. "I'm a swell guy."  
"But you're not usually nice."  
He snorted. "It's not like you have a lot of experience in that regard. You just met me." But then he tilted his head in acknowledgement. "But you're right. Niceness is not my strong suit."  
She bit her lip and glanced back at the photos. "Are you just acting nice so I'd make out with you?"  
He snorted again then laughed under his breath. "Princess, I told you before: I don't have to be nice to you to make you want to kiss me."  
“That’s not what you said.”  
“What did I say?”  
“You said I couldn’t ignore you if I…” she trailed off when he took his eyes from the road long enough to give her a long smirk. She certainly wasn’t ignoring him now. And it’d been obvious that she’d tried. He’d been right.  
She spent most of the drive home thinking about that.


	9. Chapter 9

"Jesus, Claire."   
Brian scrutinized the photos so closely, they were barely an inch from his nose. All she could see of his face was his jaw hanging slack below them. "These are crazy intense. Were you high or something?"  
She shushed him and glanced around, even though she knew no one was around to overhear. His parents weren't home when she called, and he couldn't drive yet, so she told her parents she was going to a friend's house to study and drove to him. Since his little sister was watching cartoons in the living room, they went outside and sat on the back porch to soak in some sun. It was empty, no patio furniture out from winter storage yet, but she figured it was as private a place as they were going to get for her to unburden on him.   
"No, I wasn't high. I don't do that."   
He gave her an exasperated look.   
"What?" she demanded. "I don't."  
He put an imaginary doobie to his lips and giggled like a girl, clearly mimicking her at detention. "It was only that one time!" she insisted.  
"I hope so," he grumbled, pretending to flick the joint onto the lawn and sticking the photo strip in front of his nose again. "That stuff will mess you up."  
"Give me that if you're just going to drool on it," she snapped as she snatched the photo strip from his hand. "And stop acting all superior about the joint, you did it too."  
He grimaced an acknowledgement and watched forlornly as she snapped a notebook shut around the photo strip."So do you love him now or something?"  
"Jeez, Brian, no! You're always so dramatic. It was a kiss."  
"An incredibly hot kiss."  
"With John Bender," she reminded him, emphasizing the name to remind Brian just who they were talking about. After a solid night sleep that happened only because she'd stole one of her mother's prescription sleeping pills, the light of day brought nothing but doubt. What was she thinking, going on an actual date with John Bender? And what happened to her? It was as if she had a switch that could be turned on and he knew exactly where it was. It was disconcerting.   
"What's your problem with him, Claire? He's a person, just like you or me."  
"He tells teachers to fuck off and brags about popping cherries, whatever that means."   
"It means that he -."  
"I was kidding! I know what it means!"   
"Okay, okay," Brian soothed as he held his palms up in defeat, leaning back on the porch step behind him.  
"It's just," she continued with an exasperated hand wave, "I don't know. He's not my type."  
He cleared his throat in that annoying way that made her roll her eyes. "I think those pictures show that he is."  
Claire opened her mouth to argue, but when nothing came out she hung her head and cradled it in her palms. She felt defeated, and she wasn't sure she'd be able to keep from crying. Frustration did that to her.  
"Hey, it's alright," Brian said as he uneasily patted her on the back. He'd never actually touched her before – not really, anyway. Nothing more than an elbow to get her attention, so she felt slightly vindicated that she could feel the awkwardness radiating from his fingertips. Like he still wasn't totally comfortable being friends with a Popular Girl, and wasn't sure he should be touching her. He wasn't as comfortable with the dropped social boundaries as he claimed.   
"I don't know if I can do this, Brian," she moaned into her hands. "I'm not strong like you, I’m not even sure I know who I am anymore."  
"You're Claire. You're my friend."  
"It's not that simple," she insisted as she dropped her hands to her lap. "Being popular is all I've ever known. It's what I was born to do." She snorted lightly. "I know how to put on lipstick without using my hands."  
"Com’on, Claire, you’re being too hard on yourself."  
She shook her head firmly. “No. I’m popular. I don't know how to do anything else, Brian." She pulled a tissue from her purse and dabbed her eyes as she spoke, making sure to not smear her make-up in the process. "The thing is, I'm good at it. I know how to stay popular, I know how to make the right people happy. Then I have detention and I meet the five of you and suddenly I’m confused about who I am. So I bend my rules and make friends with you even though it made me weird.”  
She turned and shrugged at him, hopelessness pouring from her body. "But my friends forgave it. Not because they think it’s okay, but because Sheila fit in on her own and I keep you separated from them. How many times do you think I can pull this off? Do you really think they're going to forgive it again? When dating a Burnout would clearly be so much worse than being friends with a geeky Brain?"  
She drew in a sharp breath when Brian winced. "Sorry, that came out bad."  
"It did," he agreed. "For both me and John."  
"See what I mean?” she moaned. “I'm horrible at this." Brian's hand rubbed her shoulder more confidently now. He'd gotten over any discomfort and was living up to the supportive friend role.   
"What's the worst that could happen, Claire? Are you afraid of losing some of those shitty friends you have? Afraid you'll be seen as open minded instead of conceited?"  
"No, I'm not afraid of losing some of my friends, I'm afraid of losing all my friends. And I might not win Prom Queen."  
His hand abruptly stopped rubbing her back. "Prom Queen? What do you mean?"  
She gave him a "duh" look. How could he not know? "I'm nominated for Prom Queen. The dance is in May."  
He took his hand completely from her back now, then scooted around to kneel on the step below her, clasping her hands in his. It was oddly intimate, in a protective brother type of way. She wasn't used to her friends showing that much emotion. "Claire. Listen to yourself carefully," he insisted, his face serious. "Are you implying that you don't want to be seen with John because it might ruin your chances of being named Prom Queen?!"  
"Why is that bad? It's important to me!"  
"A silly title and a plastic crown is more important than a person's feelings?"  
"It's not silly, Brian," she cried, yanking her hands from his. "It matters to me, and it matters to my friends. It means something to be Prom Queen!"  
He shook his head and gently reached for her hands again. She didn't want to let him, but he was suddenly reminding her of her dad, the way he shook his head at her when he was disappointed, so she gave him her hands. "Prom Queen means nothing if you have to step all over someone to get it."  
"How am I stepping all over him? We're not an item, we're not dating. We went out one time. He doesn't expect anything from me."  
He pursed his lips at her. "Are you sure about that?"  
She pulled away and stood. "I'm positive. He's not any more interested in a relationship than I am."

 

The note fell out of Claire's locker when she opened it after her last class of the day. It had been a tiring day. She'd been easily distracted and worried about bumping into John, not to mention Sheila and Diana whispering to her in between every class period for details about Saturday's date.   
"It was alright," she insisted, nervously checking for eavesdroppers. "We went to Great America."  
"Are you going out again?"  
"I doubt it. He's not my type, obviously."  
Sheila gave Claire a doubtful look, but Diana accepted it as fact, assuming John had been nothing more than a "bad boy" fling. Totally understandable. Claire was sure they'd debate it later, they'd become inseparable, she never saw them apart anymore. Instant best friends. Even though it'd only been a few weeks, she assumed there were no secrets between the two and that Sheila had already told Diana everything that happened at detention.  
Claire knew who the note was from even before it hit the floor, but she stared at it for a long time anyway. It fell between her shoes, her favorite pink suede flats, the shoes she wore simply because they'd been terribly expensive and all her friends stared wistfully at them. They weren't actually that comfortable.  
She nudged the crinkled paper with the soft suede, then sighed and picked it up. It was a map of the school grounds, penciled and roughly labeled, eraser marks smudged everywhere. Across the football field there stood a small concrete maintenance shed with a bright yellow door. It probably held things like sports supplies and the school's lawnmower, but she wasn't quite sure. She'd never paid attention to it before. The map guided her there by way of an "x" and a dotted path, with instructions as to how to get past the six foot high fence on the far side of the field. She knew from sitting high in the bleachers at football games that about twenty feet beyond the fence the ground sloped down to a creek, though she'd never been back there herself. It was just a grassy hill. She couldn't imagine why anyone would go back there.  
She couldn't imagine.  
But she checked her watch and bit her lip and wondered how much time she had before Samantha called her house. They were supposed to meet to work on prom committee things, and Claire had homework to do beforehand.  
She checked her watch one more time before studying the map again, turning it over to make sure there wasn't a note or any other information on the back. With a sigh, she crumpled it with one hand and dropped it into her bag before slamming her locker.  
Then she headed for the football field.


	10. Chapter 10

She snuck across the football field almost every afternoon that week. John was always there, sitting against the backside of the concrete shed, smoking while waiting for her. Usually they sat against the building together, his arms around her as she sat on the grass between his legs, curled up so she could face him and lean against him at the same time. They laughed a lot, teased each other and occasionally talked about how badly their parents didn't understand anything.   
But mostly they made out.   
It was like a drug to Claire. The more he kissed her, the more he ran his hands over her body, the more she needed to feel it. Brian warned her about getting addicted to marijuana, that smoking it would make her feel so good she'd want to do it all the time. But her single experience smoking a joint was tedious compared to the addiction of John's touch. He'd kiss her and she’d want to be kissed harder. So she'd pull him in and he'd kiss her harder and now she needed his hands to roam across her skin. It felt deliriously overwhelming, the sensation of always needing more from him.  
She never would have guessed, for instance, that him simply laying his palm flat against her stomach would produce the sensation it did. After a few days of making out, she'd begun to feel bold. She'd laid back in the grass, pulling him on top of her as they kissed. Without warning, his hand crept under her shirt and splayed across her bare belly. She'd moaned and writhed under the pressure of his fingertips, clutching his hair in her hands and pulling him closer until the tingling nervousness that had been growing in her belly violently exploded. The suddenness of it was so overwhelming she pushed him away, gasping to catch her breath, a little afraid of what happened. She tried it on herself later that night, tracing where his hand had curved around her bellybutton and wondering what he'd done to make the warmth trickle though her stomach and into her limbs.   
The next day in school, all she could think about was John touching her. So she wasn't that surprised to find herself scoping out his locker just before lunch, watching from an alcove across the hall. He was with another boy, one of the kids Claire had always assumed must take shop class too, and when the kid showed no sign of leaving, Claire devised a plan.  
Clutching her books to her chest, she moved from the alcove and approached John, shouldering him hard in the back as she passed.   
"What the -," he snapped, his words slamming to a halt when he recognized her.  
"Oh, I'm sorry," Claire gushed with a smile. "I didn't mean to bump into you." She dug into him with her eyes as she backed away, willing him to follow her. He watched intently, his gaze running from surprised to amused to hungry all within the time it took her to back a few steps away. Then he slammed his locker and told the friend he'd see him later.   
His eyes burned into her back the entire way. Out the back door of the school, through the parking lot, under the bleachers. By the time she reached the broken section of the fence and squeezed through, he'd given up discretion and was mere feet behind her. She could feel how badly he wanted her - or maybe that was coming from her - and she had to force herself to keep looking forward, to not turn and smile at him, because if she did she wasn't certain she'd be able to wait until they were concealed to throw herself at him.   
She never did get the chance to smile. As soon as they were behind the shed, she turned to face him and he fell into her without a word, taking her mouth like a man starving. They didn't even bother to sit or lay down, he just backed her against the wall and ravaged her. She’d never felt both consumed and sated at the same time.   
Claire wondered why she waited until she was seventeen to allow herself to feel this way, wondered why she'd never felt even a glimmer of this with the boys she'd dated before.  
Not that she was dating John.   
She didn't even see him that weekend, just met with friends and worked on flyers for the prom committee. If she was dating John, they would have done something together over the weekend. That's just what boyfriends and girlfriends did. They hung out together on weekends and talked to each other in school. So she clearly wasn't dating him.  
But the making out behind the shed continued the following week, too.  
Friday she showed up behind the shed an hour after school had ended, desperately hoping John would still be waiting for her.   
She'd had an incredibly shitty day. Mr. Vernon was her third hour teacher, and since he'd caught her skipping and thrown her in detention, he felt he now had something to hold over her. "Isn't your father a judge?" he'd sneered, shaking her Government paper in her face, the D+ clearly labelled in red at the top. "First you let Brian write an essay for you in detention – which frankly wasn’t very good - and now you turn in this garbage? Is this the best you can do?"   
Honestly, he was right. The essay hadn't been her best work. She was letting some things slip. But no one else in the class was singled out to re-do the essay over lunch. He was punishing her for not writing an essay at detention. He even mocked her while she worked, which guaranteed she wouldn't finish and would have to stay after school to get it done. She really wanted to disappear in John's arms.  
Thankfully, he was behind the shed waiting for her. With sushi.  
John Bender...with sushi?  
"It's for you," he explained, stubbing out his cigarette and popping open the plastic lid as she sat next to him. "I didn't know what kind to get, it all looks disgusting to me, but the guy assured me this was the most popular one." His lip curled as he handed it to her. "I have to admit, I was a little surprised to find there are restaurants that actually serve this stuff. I thought it was just a disgusting habit of yours."  
Claire blinked at the take-out tray in her lap. It was from her favorite sushi place.   
"You must be starving," he said as he unwrapped the chopsticks and handed them to her.   
"I am. How did you know?"  
"I saw you stuck in Vernon's classroom over lunch. I'm just assuming you didn't get to eat at all." His eyes hardened as she told him the quick version. "That dick gets hard-ons from the littlest bit of power." He gestured to her sushi. "Anyway, eat up before it gets...well, I guess slimy dead fish isn't going to get cold, but eat up anyway."  
A nervous twist of pleasure stabbed through her, the type that made it impossible to hold back a smile. He remembered she liked sushi. And noticed she was having a bad day, even though they completely ignored each other in school and in theory, shouldn't be noticing anything about each other at all. "This is really sweet. Thank you."  
He snorted at her and glanced away, as though he didn’t care. "Don't be too thankful, I'm not going to kiss you after you eat that."  
He did, of course. And though she hadn't thought it possible, she craved him more. The nervous pleasure she'd felt from him bringing her lunch morphed into a raging monster of new feelings, wonderful and completely out of her control.   
Her hands, for instance, before so firmly outside his clothes, began to roam. The first graze of his belt against her palms felt too intimate, scared her a little, and she hesitated. But only for a second, only for the time it took her to embrace the new feeling before her hands pushed onto his skin, fingers digging into his sides. He stopped dead, lips frozen against her neck, and she almost pulled away in horror that she'd gone too far, even though he'd already done the same to her.   
But before she could, he groaned and slid his mouth to her ear. "You're going to drive me crazy, Princess." He took her hands, shifting from their sitting position and lowering her to the ground, hovering over her with hungry eyes. "Put your hands there again," he demanded, softly. She squirmed in pleasure at the roughness of his voice and without hesitation, did what he asked. He flinched and stifled a choking sound, but never broke eye contact with her. "More," he breathed. "Your hands can go anywhere they want."   
It was so much easier to touch him when she wasn't looking into his eyes, and she couldn't keep the nervous laughter from spilling out between her gasps. But even as she giggled, her hands traveled up, up all the way past his chest to his shoulders, then under his arms, her thumbs just barely brushing past his nipples before trailing down his back and starting at the front again. His breath caught repeatedly as her hands moved across him, his body twitching under her fingertips. Slowly, leaving room between their bodies so her hands could roam, he lowered his face to hers until there was nothing but a whisper of space between their mouths. She could taste desire on his breath.   
"Go out with me this weekend," he asked twenty minutes later. They'd brushed grass off each other and straightened their clothes, and Claire had reapplied her lipstick and made sure it was thoroughly gone from John's face. She'd been about to walk away. "I can take you out tonight."  
Go out? Like on another date? She liked what they had. She thought about him constantly, centered her days around getting behind that maintenance shed after school. She was happily obsessed. But his suggestion scattered her mind in a million different directions, and though she wasn't sure why, she felt relieved when she remembered she already had plans. "I can't. I'm going to my cousin’s house with my parents. She just had her first baby."  
He took it in stride. "Tomorrow then."  
She'd already shook her head before remembering she had plans that night, too. "I'm supposed to go to the movies with some friends."  
"Skip it."  
"I can't, I promised Mike I'd go, and it's been months since I did anything with him."  
John stilled, an almost dangerous calm. "Mike? Mike who?"  
Claire took in his face. Now that she'd brought it up, she wasn't certain she wanted to tell him. "Mike Arlington,” she mumbled.  
"Mike Arlington," he repeated. His fists clenched for a brief moment before he shook them out. "Mr. Popularity himself, huh?"  
"I don't think -."  
"He's nominated for Prom King, isn't he? Could be the king to your queen."   
Claire stilled. "You know about Prom Queen?" Of course he knew. Everyone knew. She'd been lying when she reassured herself that he hadn't noticed.   
He snorted a harsh laugh while fishing out a cigarette and lighting it before answering her. "How stupid do you think I am? There's "Vote for Claire" signs all over the school. Us commoners are practically drowning in your name. Only the "I like Mike" signs seem more annoying."  
"I'm not dating him."  
"You just told me you're going out with him tomorrow night. Make up your mind, Queenie."  
She bristled at the term. How did Queenie sound so harsh and condescending, but Princess rolled off his tongue like it was the sweetest sound in the world? "I'm only going out with him as a friend, a bunch of us are going."  
He took a long drag of his cigarette, sneering and studying her as though trying to come to some decision. She wondered why she was bothering to explain any of this to him. She shouldn't care what John thought of her social life, he wasn't her boyfriend.  
But as soon as the thought entered her mind, she couldn't look him in the eye anymore. She stared at the ground while listening to him inhale, then exhale. "I could do something Saturday afternoon," she offered to the ground before she had a chance to think it through. Would she really go out in public with him?  
"I have detention, remember?" He drew the word 'detention' out into as many syllables as possible. "And I earned two more for skipping when we went to Great America. I think I'm in detention every Saturday until graduation." She peeked at his face. He looked irritated as he stared at her, his jaw working. When she didn't say anything, he pinched the bridge of his nose with the hand his cigarette held, squeezing his eyes shut as though exasperated. "Come see me."  
"What?"  
He dropped his hand, all irritation gone, just a resigned look on his face. "To the school. That Saturday you were in detention wasn't a fluke. Vernon always gets bored after lunch and stops checking on us."  
"So?"  
"So meet me at the door that goes to the football field at 12:30. I'll let you in. We can find a place to hang out for a few hours."  
"Hang out?" she repeated, her voice sounding stupid and dull.  
"Yes," he said, his voice turning velvety and promising as his eyes darkened. "Hang out. With me." She felt her pulse quickening again.   
"Okay." God dammit! Was that her voice? Why was she letting this go on?  
He smiled a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Okay." And he turned and walked away from the school, down the hill to the creek.


	11. Chapter 11

"You missed lunch today." Brian caught up with her as she walked through the parking lot. "Something big happened. Where were you?"  
"I had to meet with a teacher," she lied with a wave of her hand, then remembered she hadn't been with John at lunch and it wasn't a lie. "Why are you still here? School's been out for two hours."  
"I had Science Club. Why are you still here?"  
No easy lie came to her, so she just rolled her eyes. "What happened at lunch?"  
"Andy and Allison came out of their bubble of happiness to come to sit with us."  
Claire looked at him in surprise. "They sat at your table instead of Andy's old one?"  
"Yeah, he said he'd rather go where they'd both be welcome than sit with a bunch of assholes." He grinned manically, obviously excited. "You should have seen them together, Claire! He hardly stopped staring at her the entire time. He's so happy, he doesn't even care that his old friends are making fun of him."  
"Wow. Good for them." Claire said the words because she knew Brian expected them, but she didn't actually feel happy for Andy and Allison. She didn't feel jealous, either, which seemed like the obvious next emotion. She wasn't sure how she felt about it or why it made her unhappy. "I've been seeing John after school."  
Ugh. Why did she keep spitting these things out before thinking them through? Was her brain on a mission to destroy her?  
"What?" Brian grabbed her elbow and forced her to a stop. "I thought you weren't interested in a relationship with him."  
"Well, I am. I mean, I'm not. I'm just...I don't know, seeing him on occasion."  
"What does 'on occasion' mean?"  
"Just..." she shrugged and pulled her elbow from his grip. "I don't know, occasionally!"  
"Like, every day?" His eyes narrowed. "Is that where you were just now? Are you kissing him?"  
She blushed and turned to leave, but he caught her elbow again. "Claire, just how far are you going with him?"  
Her jaw dropped. "That is none of your business you little perv!"  
"Hey, you brought it up. And if you're fucking around with him when you know damn well you'd never admit to it, that's just a shitty thing to do."  
"Why are you so interested in John's feelings anyway? He wasn't exactly nice to you at detention, and you haven't talked to him since."  
Brian looked momentarily flustered by the question, then angry. "That doesn't mean I want him to get dumped on by you."  
"Oh, so now it's your job to defend the poor, innocent boys of Shermer High School from girls like me? Is that it?"  
"No, I'm trying to prevent you from becoming one of those girls!"  
She recoiled as though he'd slapped her. "What is that supposed to mean?"  
He had the decency to look ashamed. "Claire, I'm sorry. It's not that I think you're -."  
But she stormed away, refusing to let him see that her eyes were tearing up. "I think you've made it perfectly clear what you think of me, Brian."  
"No, that's not it. Don't be mad."  
She reached her car and threw her bag in the front seat, sliding in behind it. "Leave me alone, Brian," she said as she slammed the door in his face. 

 

She almost didn't go to the school on Saturday. Or rather, she thought all morning of reasons she shouldn't go, even as she was getting herself ready to go. She showered, did her hair, put on make-up, picked out an outfit she tried to forget was easy to remove, all the while listing reasons she shouldn't go.  
He was waiting with the door propped open, no cigarette. He looked...cleaner. The beat-up combat boots were replaced with a pair of worn black sneakers, his jeans free of holes. The usual t-shirt and flannel were gone, a long-sleeved black t-shirt in their place. It looked new. Both hands were shoved deep into his jean pockets as he leaned one shoulder into the doorway, somehow looking bad-boy, sexy and a little bit of preppy all at the same time. She spent most of her walk up to him with her pulse racing as she checked out how different he looked from the neck down, so she failed to look into his face until she was standing right in front of him.  
But when she did, she knew instantly that today would be a game changer. She had no idea how she knew, what it even was in his face to make her think that. Perhaps it was just his obvious attempt to dress a little more to her style, or maybe he looked at her a little more hopeful instead of just lustful. Or maybe it wasn't even coming from him. Maybe she spent all that time debating if she should meet him because she knew things would change today.  
She should have spent the morning thinking about Brian's advice. Her phone was ringing when she got home Friday, and though it was tempting to just hang up on him, she listened to Brian, forgave him for what he said, and had an honest conversation about her feelings for John. All of them. He wasn’t impressed. It was his opinion that she was taking advantage of him.  
Which was not what she was doing. If anything, John was taking advantage of her, he was the one with all the sexual experience. And Brian knew damn well that she was a virgin, everyone from detention knew. How could she be the one taking advantage of anyone?  
The thought made her flush and drop her eyes to the ground, once again very uncertain she should even be here. She didn't trust herself. If John took her somewhere private and started kissing and touching her, there was no other place she'd want to be. She'd been thinking about it all week, afraid to admit to herself how far she'd already gone with him in her daydreams. The restraint was wearing on her, and she constantly found herself wondering what it would be like to not have to stop, to be able to be with John and feel sated and complete rather than frustrated at that little voice in her head telling her she’d be a whore if she did. Where did that voice even come from? Her mother? Her friends?  
To hell with that. She was going to have sex today. With John.  
Of course, she already knew that. It had been unavoidable for a long time now.  
Unless she just didn't go into the building with him.  
But God, she wanted to so badly.  
"Here's the thing," John said as a greeting. "I am a really, really fucked up person."  
Claire blinked at the ground a few times before pulling her mind from the heated prospect of losing her virginity to what John had actually said. "That's not true."  
"It is. We both know it. I'm angry and mean."  
"That's not your fault, your dad..."  
"Look, it doesn't matter why I'm fucked up. That's not my point. My point is that when I'm with you, I don't feel....quite as fucked up." He swallowed and slid his eyes to hers. "You know?"  
"Yeah," she quietly replied. She didn't even have to think about it. She knew.  
"So I don't want you to go tonight."  
She repeated the words to herself a few times, but even after she did, she wasn't sure what they meant. The sex was still hoarding her mind. "Go where?" She gave him a tentative smile. "I'm here. I don't want to go anywhere."  
"Tonight," he clarified. "I don't want you going out with Mike. I'm..." he trailed off and fought to keep his eyes on hers. "...jealous."  
Again, she had to repeat it in her head. It didn’t help. "I've been thinking,” he continued without waiting for a response, “about you and I. Us. About what we're doing. And I was hoping..."  
Don't say it, was all she could think as he hesitated. Don't say it.  
Or...maybe do. Maybe if he said it she'd be able to handle telling him the truth, no matter what it was. Maybe.  
What was her truth? She knew a thousand truths about John. All of them conflicted with each other.  
He looked away and took a deep breath before looking back again. God he looked so vulnerable. "I was hoping you could just be mine. Only mine." Claire must have looked uncertain, because he rushed over his next words. "I don't mean we have to tell anyone about us."  
"Not tell anyone?” she questioned, finally finding her voice. “I...don't understand."  
He leaned back against the doorframe, as though he needed space. "I just mean, I don't know, we could date in secret. Just until the end of the school year. We both have friends who wouldn't be very understanding, right?" He waited for her to nod, which she did even though she wasn't entirely sure why. "So we don't tell anyone. We keep doing what we've been doing, we just both promise to not see other people. It'll be a secret until after we graduate. You’ll be my…girlfriend."  
She was reeling. Tidal waves of words and emotions washed over her, drowning her. It was possible, she thought, that if he asked her name, she might not be able to give the correct answer. She plucked one item from the tidal pool and addressed it.  
"You want me to...not see other people?"  
He nodded once, curtly. He seemed reluctant to speak. She sifted through her thoughts again. It was getting easier, all the extra words were washing away.  
"Because you think we should...actually...date each other? Like, boyfriend – girlfriend?"  
Another curt nod.  
"In secret," Claire clarified. "So no one else knows about us."  
"Yes."  
She bit her lip and marveled at how quiet her thoughts and feelings had become since the tidal wave wiped the uncertainty out. She felt clear-minded, focused. "Because you actually like me? Or because I make you feel slightly less fucked up?"  
He tilted his head and seemed to consider. "What's the difference?"  
"I guess I'm not sure."  
He looked like he was about to nod again but instead startled with an incredulous look. "You thought I didn't like you?"  
She shrugged a single shoulder. "We never talked about how we felt. We talked about other things and we...made out. I thought you didn't have a problem kissing girls you didn't like. I thought I was just a girl you...you know... considered," she said with half-hearted air quotes.  
He looked pained, but nodded at her. "I did consider you. I considered you a lot. And now I want to consider you my girlfriend. Because I like you. A lot." He took in a quick breath and just as quickly blew it out, dropping his gaze to the ground. "Do you...like me? Like that?"  
Her mind was so clear, so devoid of swinging emotions and worries. The flood had erased everything except the here and now. And she was well aware of what she wanted here and now, aware John was showing her a side of himself that didn't come easily. This was her John, a special John that only she could see, because he only brought it out for her. She wondered if he saw sides of her that no one else did, too. She wondered what they were.  
"Yes. I like you." A shiver racked her body as his eyes raised and met hers. "A lot."  
Was that true? It seemed so simple, so obvious, how could it not be true?  
Her hand reached out to him, almost of its own accord, and when he took it she stepped past him into the school, pulling him with her. 

They walked around the school for a while, hand in hand, talking about everything except sex because Claire was so nervous about having sex. Finally John pulled her to a stop on their third time past the main office, turning to face her and taking her hands in his. "If I'm pressuring you, tell me. We don't have to have -."  
"No," she insisted, too bashful to even hear the word. Wanting to do it was one thing, admitting it out loud, even to the guy she wanted to do it with, was entirely another. It was so much easier to tease and dance around the idea. All those years, she’d had no idea what she was even teasing boys with. Until now, sex had been nothing more than an abstract idea, not worth a second thought since she never planned on pulling it out in the first place. She actually felt a little bad for all those boys she’d teased, now that she understood the desperation of wanting it. "You're not pressuring me to do anything I don't want to do, I'm just...nervous."  
"Do you want to wait?"  
"Why?" she demanded, suddenly worried he might be playing a game with her, maybe didn't want her after all. "Don't you want to...?” She couldn't even finish the sentence, just grimaced instead. Inwardly, she rolled her eyes. She was annoying even herself with all her tip-toeing around the word sex. Maybe John had known her better than she realized when he called her ‘pristine’ at detention.  
"Oh, I want to." He grinned and raised her hands to his lips, kissing each hand once, his mouth lingering as he held her gaze. "I'm just having doubts this is the right place for someone like you. Do you really want to say you lost your virginity on the teacher's lounge couch?"  
The suggestion made her legs turn to jelly. She was suddenly over her embarrassment. "You're taking me to the teacher's lounge?" she asked in a breathless exhale of words.  
She never heard the answer. One second she was biting back her desire to attack him right there, basking in the naked desire of his gaze, the next she was stumbling backwards into the office doorway, John turned away from her.  
"Bender!"  
Mr. Vernon‘s voice cracked towards Claire like whip, forcing a whimper to escape before she could clamp a hand over her mouth. "What are you doing out here?” the voice lashed. “Do you think this is funny?"  
John stepped away and Claire almost reached out to him before realizing the door he'd shoved her into was in an alcove. As long as they didn't walk this way, Mr. Vernon wouldn't see her. She shut her eyes and tried to map out the school in her head, remember what direction the library lay. She was too flustered. She had no idea.  
"No, sir," John's voice floated back to her as his footsteps wandered away, casually, as though he had nothing to hide. "I just thought I'd go for a walk. I'm still a growing boy, you know. I need the exercise."  
"Again with the wisecracks? When are you going to let it go?"  
"What? You don't want to be responsible for my declining health, would you, Dick?" Claire cringed at the hostility splicing through John's voice. She's almost forgotten that's how he usually talked, that when he wasn't with her, he was bitter and rude to everyone. She'd forgotten how badly he wanted the rest of the world to see him as a disrespectful Burnout Criminal.  
"Just walk, tough boy," Mr. Vernon taunted. Staggering footsteps followed. God, Mr. Vernon had shoved him again. "Do I have to keep you locked up every Saturday? Is that what it's going to take to teach you some respect?"  
Mr. Vernon was going to lock John in the closet off the library again. The layout of the school came back to her in a rush, and she gulped down a sigh of relief. That was in the opposite direction from her hiding spot. Mr. Vernon wouldn't see her.  
She blinked when the cold reality poured over her. Mr. Vernon was going to lock John in the closet. Again. She looked at her watch. It was 1:15. It would be at least three hours before he let him out.  
Mr. Vernon‘s voice carried back to Claire for a full two minutes, rising an octave every time John's mocking tone kicked in. When she was certain the voices were gone, she stepped into the hallway. She had never liked Mr. Vernon. He was a terrible teacher, never bothering to make his subject interesting but always condescending when students didn't understand. She'd disliked him for years, and her time in detention with him and the weeks after had only strengthened that dislike.  
But now she truly hated him. He was a bully, and he was mean.  
John had saved her from Vernon once before. He’d taken the fall for all of them at detention, luring Vernon away with his yelling and singing so the rest of them could sneak back into the library before Vernon knew they’d been gone. She’d never forget the way John looked at her, long and deep, just before bolting down the hallway, screaming for Vernon’s attention. That’s what he did to get locked in the closet last time.  
Now he’d done it again.  
Why couldn’t she ever do the saving? Lying to Vernon to cover for him in detention hardly seemed like enough. It’d been easy to claim she knew nothing about a missing screw, especially with the rest of them backing her up. What John did to keep her out of trouble always seemed nobler somehow. He knowingly walked into trouble for her. She wanted to save him, too.  
He always seemed to need it.  
She looked at her watch again, then sighed and stared at the door to the main office, wondering what to do. A sign in the window of the door told her in bold letters:  
DID YOU SEE A CRIME ON SCHOOL GROUNDS?  
COME TELL US, WE'LL HELP!  
She snorted. "I doubt it," she muttered out loud. "You'll probably call the police on us first." She blinked as she thought about her words, then smiled.


	12. Chapter 12

The police left the school as soon as they realized there wasn't actually a student being held hostage. But just as Claire hoped he would, Mr. Vernon panicked and sent John home as soon as the cops left. Claire was waiting for him outside the main entrance, leaning against her car. His grin as he walked across the driveway was infectious.  
"A hostage situation?" he asked, a little incredulous.  
She shrugged like it was no big deal and tried not to look smug. "As a dedicated parent, I was a little concerned last Saturday when my student came home from detention and told me a student had been repeatedly shoved by a teacher then locked in a closet. I simply suggested the police might want to look into it as an assault on school grounds."  
He practically jumped the last few steps to reach her, snaking his arms around her waist and pulling her off her feet into a hug. "You are incredible," he breathed into her neck. He set her down on the hood of the car, keeping his arms wrapped tightly around her waist and touching his forehead to hers. "My little criminal mastermind," he smiled.  
She gave up trying to hold back the smug smile. She was so proud that her plan to dish up some revenge on Mr. Vernon had worked. "It was pretty good, wasn't it?"  
"It was," he agreed with a kiss. "I guess Brian was right after all. We all have a little bit of Criminal in us."  
"If that's true, you're the only one who knows how to unlock Criminal Claire. I've never met her before."  
He grinned and kissed her again, like he couldn't help it. "So there's a special Claire, just for me?" he asked around kisses. "Is that what you're saying?"  
"Only for you," she said against his lips. A nagging thought in the back of her brain wondered why she wasn't more uncomfortable with this conversation, but she brushed it away so nothing would ruin the evening she had planned.   
After leaving the school, she'd gone home to call her friends and cancel her evening plans. She called her parents to verify they were still at her grandparent's house and wouldn't be back until Sunday and of course she was still spending the night at Diana's. Then she went to the phone booth across the street from the school and called the police. She'd sat in her car at the far side of the parking lot, waiting for the police to arrive and watching carefully as two cops ran up the stairs and into the school. When they left a little over an hour later, she pulled the car as close to the school as possible and waited for John to emerge.  
She was done waiting.   
"Come home with me. My parents are gone until tomorrow."

 

The sex felt awkward and weird, with only a hint of pleasure near the end. But after, John lay back on her pink, silky sheets, his hands firmly wrapped around her brass bed frame like he was her tied-up prisoner, and let her explore every inch of him. They laughed together when her touch tickled him, but her favorite moments were when she made him tense and gasp, veins popping from his wrists as he tightened his grip on the headboard.   
She could have touched and kissed him all afternoon. So she protested when he finally took his hands from the imaginary shackles and placed them on her instead, flipping her onto her back. She wanted to keep touching him. But he gave her one of his half-grins and made her hold his gaze as he placed her hands on the bed frame, firmly wrapping his hands around hers so she knew to hold on tight. She could barely breathe, her anticipation was so heavy, but then his hands and mouth began to roam and her breath escaped in hurried gasps.   
An awakening. Under his touch, Claire discovered what it meant to be tempted, coaxed, and released. He teased her, demanded she give in to what her body needed, and made her feel like a goddess when she finally begged. The exhilaration opened her eyes.   
But it still paled in comparison to the hours after. The room was already darkening around them when he released her and they spent another hour laughing and kissing, limbs tangled together as they talked. She honestly thought if the world ended just at that moment, she’d die happy.   
They ordered a pizza to share while they watched a movie in her mom’s private den, then crawled back into bed. The sex was much more intense the second time, once she knew what she was capable of. Since she was no longer focused on the sole intensity of losing her virginity, she paid more attention to the pulls of her body and how John reacted to the things she did to him. It felt more…natural. John spent long minutes staring into her eyes as he moved above her, and she folded herself as tightly around him as she could, and finally, after, she felt sated.   
But really, years later when she reminisced back on that night, the first thing she thought about wasn’t the foreplay or the sex or her awakening. She never considered it as “The Night” she lost her virginity. Instead, the first thing she remembered was his breath caressing her back in the pitch black of the night, how she felt as his breathing slowed and his arm grew heavier around her waist the longer they were quiet.  
It was falling asleep wrapped in his arms that she remembered. Safe. And not alone. 

 

It turned out Claire had a sex-crazed monster locked up inside of her. Before John started touching her, she'd never had any indication it was there, had never heard it so much as whisper to her. She had no problem teasing boys then giving them nothing, because she’d never really wanted them in the first place. But once John tapped into it, all he had to do was glance at her with heavy lids and her beast clawed to the surface, starving for attention, needing to be fed. It actually scared her sometimes, how powerfully it overtook her.  
She spent every day for two weeks after school with him. Most days she even convinced him to spend her lunch hour behind the shed, even though that was a regular class hour for him. He didn't seem to mind skipping it. One day, at the end of the second week, they didn't even make it to the lunch hour. She looked up from her second hour Trig lecture and saw John leaning against the lockers across the hall from her classroom. He was watching her, of course, and since she'd sat in the back corner, no one else in the room could see him. He was her secret.  
But then he'd crooked his finger at her, just one simple curl of his finger while staring at her with those eyes, and she didn't think she was going to need to come up with an excuse to leave class. The nervous energy that slammed through her at the thought of John’s touch made her flush and sweat and she thought she might just throw up right on her desk in front of everyone if she didn't get out of that room.  
They did it in a storage closet in the art room. He swept all the paint brushes from a table and lifted her onto it, clawing up her skirt. She never considered anything like art, or students, or teachers walking in, or even her reputation. She only considered how she shivered when he touched her.  
Diana and Sheila cornered her mere minutes after as she was attempting to open her locker. She was on her third attempt, smiling aimlessly at the locker, not realizing she wasn't dialing the correct combination as books and notebooks overflowed from her arms. "Be totally honest with us, Claire," Sheila whispered. "Are you seeing anyone?"   
"What?" Claire demanded with a nervous giggle, looking around to make sure no one could overhear them, her books and notebooks almost sliding from her overflowing arms. "N-No. Why?" She had a barely controllable urge to tell them the truth, had almost said 'yes' because she so badly wanted to tell someone besides Brian. She told him everything, though she wasn't sure why since he made her feel bad about herself every time the subject came up. He was adamantly opposed to her keeping John a secret – especially now that they were sleeping together - even though she'd told Brian a thousand times it had been John's idea in the first place. She needed someone who would support her side of things.  
Sheila and Diana would be perfect. They’d never tell anyone. And they would totally understand why she needed to keep John a secret, wouldn’t even hesitate to help her scheme and make her illicit bad-boy affair the most delicious secret of the year. They’d probably think it was the most romantic story they’d ever heard.   
"Because people are talking," Diana remarked, interrupting Claire's thoughts.   
"Totally talking," agreed Sheila. Claire bristled for a moment at how quickly Sheila had adapted into the Popular Girl world, as though all those previous years as a Nobody had been erased from existence. But then she processed what their words implied.   
"People are talking about John?" she asked, hysteria lacing her words. This time, the top book slid from her arms onto the floor.  
Diana scooped up the book and placed it back on top of the pile, patting Claire's arm. "No, silly. No one's talking about John."  
"Although...," Sheila trailed off, studying Claire with a raised eyebrow. "Should people be talking about John?"  
"No!"   
"Well," Sheila shrugged. "It's just that no one except us knows you went out with him that one Saturday, and we haven't said anything. So when we said people were talking about you, why did you assume it was about John? Have you given people a reason to be talking about him?" Diana gave Sheila an impressed look, then raised her own eyebrow pointedly at Claire.  
"No," Claire glowered.  
"Because you know we wouldn't judge," Diana pressed. "Sheila told me all about how cute you two were in detention, and you know I'm all for shaking up the cliques at this school."  
Claire shot eye daggers at Sheila. "We were not cute."  
"So you're not dating him?" Sheila asked again.  
"No." God, they were giving her every opportunity, why wasn't she telling them?  
“You’re not dating anyone?”  
“No!”  
"You've just been acting so weird lately," Sheila commented.  
Claire stiffened in anger. "You didn't know me before detention," she jabbed at Sheila. "In fact, if it wasn't for me, you wouldn't even be in the position you are now. So how is it that you get to decide I'm acting weird?"  
"Claire, sweetie, it’s okay," Diana insisted, putting an arm around Claire's shoulders. Sheila moved closer, too, as though to comfort her, and Claire realized with a start that in that short burst of anger, tears had formed in her eyes.   
"I'm not judging you," Sheila said. "And I am grateful that you introduced me to your friends, especially Diana." The two exchanged a quick smile before returning their attention to Claire. "You're right, I didn't know you before detention, but I learned a lot about you that day. We all bared our souls to each other, and I feel I know the five of you almost better than anyone." Claire huffed and rolled her eyes, but Sheila kept talking, undeterred. "I saw what was happening between you and John at detention. It was intense, Claire. Remember how we could practically see the electricity flying between Allison and Andy all afternoon? The same thing was happening between you and John."  
"Nothing happened," Claire insisted, all thoughts of confiding in them wiped from her brain. "Just tell me what people are saying about me."  
They exchanged another glance that Claire could tell meant they doubted her, but they apparently decided to let it go and dropped their arms from her shoulders. "Nothing in particular," Diana shrugged. "Just typical nasty guesses. Like maybe you've gone weird and are seeing a shrink, or you're seeing someone you want to keep secret, or..."  
Diana paused and exchanged a worried glance with Sheila, sighing when Claire pushed her to continue talking with an impatient hand roll. "It's dumb, of course, but a few people are saying that you're pregnant."  
"What!?"  
"Shhhh!" Sheila placed a calming hand on Claire's arm, trying to reassure. "Anyone who knows you would know that's not true."  
"What?" Claire asked again, offended but uncertain as to why.  
"Look, we don't mean to be nags, it's just that we need to know the truth about John," Sheila insisted. "Is that what's going on with you lately?"  
Sheila's persistence wore at Claire. She wanted to tell them so badly. With another maddening swing of her resolve, she felt the 'yes' bubbling to her lips, the relief at finally telling someone about -.  
"Because Mike Arlington asked us to talk with you."  
Claire's thoughts short circuited. "Mike?"  
Diana nodded. "You know how you were doing stuff with him until that weekend you had detention?"  
"We were just friends," Claire insisted.  
"I know, I get it. We were always in a group and you weren't really dating him. But the thing is, he really likes you and he wants to be dating you. He was going to ask you to prom." She gestured to Claire's closed locker. "You actually going to open that?"  
"Here, give those to me," Sheila said, reaching for Claire's books.  
"Thanks," Claire mumbled, handing off the books and turning her attention to the spin lock. The combination came easily this time. "So why hasn't Mike asked me to prom?" She asked as she pulled open her locker, though really, she already knew the answer.  
"You stopped hanging with him. Then the rumors started up." Claire nodded in agreement as she collected the books from Sheila and put them into her locker. She hadn't thought about it until now, but once she'd started focusing on John, she'd completely blown off Mike. She couldn't even remember the last time she talked to him. Probably the Saturday two weeks ago when she cancelled plans with him to spend the night with John.  
"But he still likes you," Diana said.  
"...and he wants to ask you to prom," Sheila continued.   
"So he asked us if you liked him."  
"And we didn't want to say yes if you were secretly dating someone. Like John," Sheila added pointedly.   
Claire frowned, removing the notebook she needed for her next class. "I would consider going to prom with Mike," she heard herself say. Disgust stabbed through her when she realized she wasn’t surprised.   
Sheila looked disappointed, but Diana's eyes were lit in excitement. "Really? That's excellent! You'll be voted Prom Queen for sure if you're dating the guy who's a shoo-in for Prom King!"   
Claire frowned, deep in thought and fighting to ignore the battle raging in her head. "You think Mike's going to win?"  
"Absolutely," Diana gushed. "Everyone's talking about voting for him. You, on the other hand, are not such a sure thing anymore, especially with all the rumors floating around." She gave Claire a sympathetic look. "But it's an easy fix."  
"As long as you're not seeing John," Sheila interrupted.  
"As long as you're not seeing John," Diana agreed, though she brushed the words off with a wave of her hand. "Go out with Mike. Let the rumors die down. As soon as it's known you two are dating each other, everyone will be talking about it how cool it would be if the Prom King and Queen were actually boyfriend and girlfriend." She raised one eyebrow. "Don't you like Mike? You certainly did a few months ago."  
"I do.” Claire shook her head, shuddering at the lie. “I mean, he's great and all. I'm just...oh, I don't know." Claire sighed and shut her eyes, her mind escaping back to the art room closet. She could still feel John's hands under her shirt, holding her against him as he rocked above her, his fingers pressing tightly into her back. She wondered if his fingers left marks on her skin. It had hurt in the sweetest way.  
Then she wondered if Mike Arlington could make her feel the same way.  
She gasped and her eyes flew open, startling Diana and Sheila.  
"What's wrong?" Diana insisted.  
Claire shook her head, if only to hide her own trembling. "I just realized I really want to be Prom Queen."  
"Great!" Diana exclaimed. Sheila looked doubtful.  
Claire slammed her locker shut then turned abruptly to walk away. "Yes. I'll talk with Mike. I can make this work." She wasn't even facing Sheila and Diana anymore, was dimly aware that she was talking to herself like a crazy person. This was crazy. What was she doing?  
"Claire?" Sheila called.  
Claire turned back, even as she fought back an eye roll. She wished Sheila would just let it go. "What?"  
"Are you certain you aren't doing anything with John? Because it really seemed that you two had something good going on, and I'd hate to be the one who encouraged you to dump him over a plastic crown."  
A dull anger flared in Claire. Brian had said the same thing. She was sick of people who’d only known her for a handful of weeks thinking they understood what she wanted. Just because she'd opened up to Sheila and Brian and everyone else at that detention didn't mean they knew her. It didn't mean they could belittle her goals.  
She let the spark of anger take over her emotions. "I'm not involved with John," she declared with a decisive swipe of her hand for emphasis.  
Then she left to find Mike.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look at me! I finally stopped being scared of HTML and formatted this chapter so it's easier to read. Yay me :) Enjoy!

Mike Arlington made her feel nothing.

Worse than nothing, actually. He made her ache inside, an empty feeling that reminded her why she’d never been interested in the boys she’d dated before, why it’d been so easy to lead them on then walk away. Her body screamed in frustration that she’d missed out on a night with John for someone like Mike. And, frankly, he grossed her out a little.

She'd felt a glimmer of hope when she cornered him in their 5th hour English class, shamelessly flirting with him and acting like there was no other boy in the world. He took the bait and before they left class, asked if she'd go to prom with him. She blushed and said yes, acting surprised that he'd thought of her. "Maybe we'll get to be King and Queen together," she gushed. He laughed and told her he hoped so, but that he was more looking forward to getting to know her. His eyes raked over her body as he said it and Claire assumed that meant he was up for more than just kissing. 

So she suggested they go out that very night.

She had to fight down self-loathing at every turn just to think about it, but her conversation with Diana and Sheila had made her wonder...what if the way John made her feel had nothing to do with him at all? What if it wasn't John that turned her into a sex-starved crazy girl, he’d just been the first boy to tap into it? The possibility of being Prom Queen and having the most popular boy in school as her boyfriend was just...well, too tempting to pass up. She'd been seeing John for a month, and had enjoyed two weeks of fabulous, mind-bending sex with him. She even had to admit that she liked being with him even without the sex. He definitely seemed to understand her, and they had fun. But really. How could she know if all that was typical or not? What if having a sexual relationship with a guy just...changed things?

What if she could have all that with Mike?

Certainly Mike Arlington knew a thing or two about where to touch a girl. 

She hadn't counted on him slobbering when he kissed her with soft, mushy lips. The way he mashed against her and tried to stick his tongue in odd places made her wonder if he'd practiced on his dog, because she couldn't imagine any girl being turned on by that. 

When he dropped her off at her house and showed absolutely zero interest in moving past that one flabby kiss, she didn't protest. She'd planned on throwing herself at him to see what he could make her feel, had just assumed that part would be easy. She could barely keep herself from attacking John whenever they were alone, after all. It just didn't seem right that she felt so much passion over a boy she wasn't meant to be with. She was destined for boys like Mike. Boys like Mike were her future. Boys like John weren't even supposed to be on her radar. John was just…not in her league. 

In the end, however, at a very early nine o'clock on a Friday night, she found herself sitting in the passenger seat of Mike's car in front of her house. Before he even shifted the car into park she found herself eyeing her bedroom window, her mind wandering back to two weekends ago, when John spent the night with her. She almost forgot Mike was in the car with her, she was so busy wondering if her parents were home so she could plant the idea in their heads to go out of town for the weekend sometime soon. She wanted to have John in her bed for an entire night again.

"Claire?"

"Hmmm?" She mumbled, dragging her eyes from the window. Mike had a pimple just below his nose. Gross.

"I had a good time tonight."

She pushed her face into a plastic smile. "I had a good time, too! Thanks for taking me out." God, she wasn't going to have to kiss him again, was she?

He grinned and took her hand, kissing it with a dramatic flourish. He left some drool on her knuckles. Claire fought to keep smiling. "You're so sweet," she pushed through gritted teeth. "I can't wait for prom."

She didn't think her departure from his car was too rushed, but it might have been. She wasn't concerned about it, she just had to reconcile herself to a change of plans. Dating Mike wasn't actually necessary, after all, she just needed him to stay interested in her long enough that people would think they were dating and she could ride that rumor to Prom Queen. The entire school wouldn't be able to stop gushing about how cool it was that the Prom King and Queen were dating.

Except John of course. 

John. 

She wasn’t being fair. She should break up with him.

But that wasn't going to happen. She planned on holding tightly on to him, hoping their social circles kept enough distance from each other that he wouldn't hear any rumblings about her and Mike dating. 

She liked John. She liked him a lot. It felt good to put those words together in her head, outside of her feelings. It made them feel more real that she could say them even when he wasn’t there, throwing her emotions into overdrive. She wanted what she had with John to be real. 

But she liked being popular, too, and she was frustrated that everyone seemed to think she couldn't have both. She was Claire Standish, the most popular girl in school, future Prom Queen. She could have anything she wanted.

And she was mad she'd wasted an entire evening on Mike.

"John?"

The pause on the other end of the phone told her he was surprised she'd called his house. She'd never called him before. 

"Claire? I thought you were at your cousin's."

"I was," she lied. "But we got home early." She twisted the phone cord around her fingers and took a deep breath. "Do you want to come over?"

Another pause. "To your house?"

"Yes, to my house. We can watch a movie or something."

"Aren’t your parents home?"

Her parents. Meeting John. She hadn't thought that far ahead, had simply picked up the phone without thinking. Claire closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the doorway. She could do this. She could have both. 

"Claire?" John asked when she didn't answer. "Wouldn't your parents freak out if I came over?"

For the first time that night, Claire smiled and meant it. 

 

"Are your parents still watching us?" 

Claire sat on her living room couch, her legs swung over John's lap. His arms were snaked around her legs, hers around his neck as she played with the hair at the nape of his neck. He shuddered occasionally, which delighted her in strange ways and made her try harder to make him do so. 

His question made her tear her eyes from him to glance across her open family room and down the long hallway that led to her dad's office. The door to the office had remained stubbornly cracked open since John arrived, every few minutes a shadow hovering on the other side, one of her parents peeking through. Her mother, more than likely.

Her mom rarely spent time in the office, usually relaxed away her evenings soaking in her tub or watching movies in her upstairs den. Her parents were both happier doing their own thing in their own part of the house, a way of life Claire had come to expect, especially since her older brother moved out. He’d always been the unifying one in the family, the one everyone tried to please. It made Claire feel bad to admit, but her parents didn’t respond to her the way they had to him, no matter how hard she tried to copy his behaviors. They just seemed impatient with her attempts, throwing money at her to make her stop. 

It didn’t matter anymore. The new norm was her parents occupying a space together typically resulted in a spiraling storm of words that inevitably drew Claire in. She knew how to inflame her parents rather than unify them. She just wasn’t sure, afterwards, how or why they’d reacted to her the way they did, so she’d stopped trying. She loved her parents. She did. Usually. She just loved them more when she could spend time alone with each of them, saving their “family time” for those moments out in public, when the happy family facade was the only viable option. Valuing one's alone time was the key to a successful marriage, her mother often told her. 

But tonight, Claire's mom valued something else, and she stayed in the office and spied. Her voice tumbled down the hall every few minutes, the words not always making the distance as well as the emotions. Over the volume of the movie Claire wasn't really watching anyway, her mother's voice sounded occasionally thick with tears, but more often high and shrill. Her father never projected anything more than a low, reassuring rumble in response. A few times Claire kissed John just to hear her mom's reaction, but it quickly lost its charm and made her feel guilty instead.

"I see you dressed down as much as possible," Claire commented with a pick at John's worn, torn-up shirt. His combat boots were back and he was dressed even more disheveled than usual, which she wouldn't have thought possible. But it made her smile, because she knew he did it for her. "You're upsetting my mother's tidy little view of the world," she said as her fingers once again wandered into the hair at the back of his neck.

He arched his head into her hand like a cat wanting more attention. She wondered if she could get him to close his eyes and groan. "I heard you needed a good-for-nuthin' boyfriend to get back at your parents," he said as his eyes rolled shut. "It's one of the many roles I play." One eye cracked back open and he grinned. "For the right price."

She laughed and kissed him, a long, messy kiss with her hands tangled in his hair, and she finally got her groan. She smiled against his mouth and dropped a hand down his chest. But then her mother's voice carried from down the hall, the softer emotions abandoned to make way for her crystal clear, piercing anger. "The boy is clearly not civilized!"

"Not civilized?" Claire's dad burst. Claire yanked her lips from John's and froze, carefully listening. Her dad never raised his voice, never responded to her mother's outbursts with anything more than a tired resignation. "Just because the boy isn't drunk on martinis doesn't mean he's not civilized." A tirade of screaming followed, her dad's voice stabbing a few times into the chaos before being drowned out altogether.

John raised the remote and turned up the volume on the television. Like it was just what one did to drown out screaming parents. No big deal. Claire remained frozen.

"You need to grow up, Mary!" Claire's dad yelled from surprisingly nearby.

The office door slammed shut in response. Claire barely had time to push away from John and sit up before her dad was in the room, shrugging on a jacket. "I'm going out." He had two sets of keys in his hands, without warning he tossed one set to Claire. "Your mother's drunk again. Don't let her go anywhere near the car."

"Daddy!" Claire squeaked, horrified. But he'd already stormed into the garage, slamming the door behind him. A few seconds later, a car started at the same time the office door crashed open, and her mother stomped through on her way to the kitchen. Clanging sounds ensued, cabinet doors violently opened and shut, then her mother blazed by again, Claire remaining instinctively still in the hopes she wouldn't be noticed. When nothing happened for a few seconds, Claire peered down the hallway. Her mother hadn't even pretended to shut the office door this time, had left it wide open as she disappeared inside. 

Confrontations happened on a regular basis in Claire's house, but hiding this fact was mandatory. They never, ever, fought when people were around. What people think about us matters, her mom often reminded her.

Apparently John didn't matter.

Her face burned. "I'm so sorry," she said, ducking away from eye contact, her voice trembling with embarrassment.

"Hey, don't worry about it." He shifted to see her face, tilting her chin so she couldn't avoid looking at him. "Really, don't be upset. That was like a kindergarten playground fight compared to the brawls that go on in my house."

"They don't usually fight when people are here. And they insulted you."

He shrugged. "Uncivilized? Trust me, I've been called worse."

After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded and reached for him, running her fingers along his jaw and neck, tracing lightly against his skin, touching him like it was therapy to make her forget. It worked better than she’d hoped, her parents already a dimming memory. She could play with him all night. He shut his eyes and shivered under her touch, and she forgot all about her parents. "Why are you so nice to me?" she whispered.

His eyes popped open. "What?"

"Why are you so nice to me? You weren't that day in detention, you called me a bitch and everything. You even threatened to kill Andy."

"I don't like Andy. He said I didn’t count.”

"We all said things at the beginning of detention that we wish we hadn’t. Andy also covered for you. Twice. So I think you like him just fine." He grunted what she took to be an acknowledgement. “So what about me?” she asked.

He leered at her. "I like you just fine, too."

She started to giggle, but cut herself off and gave him a firm look. "No. I'm serious, you need to answer the question this time. You said in front of all of us at detention that you didn't think it was ever worth it to be nice. You even told me at Great America that you're not usually a nice person." Her finger still traced up and down his arm. She couldn't stop playing with him. "But you're good to me. Why?"

His face clouded briefly, then cleared again and one side his mouth twitched into a smile. "Truth?" 

She held back her own smile, resting her chin on his shoulder. "Truth."

"The truth is...I don't know."

"That's a cop-out."

"No, it's true." He shrugged lightly, just enough to jostle her chin. "I just don't know. That day at detention, I treated you just as shitty as I treat everyone. And you ate it up, started looking at me with those eyes of yours, even though I could tell you didn't want to. Over the next few weeks I wondered - what would happen if I was nice?" He raised a suggestive eyebrow and took on a deep, movie voice-over tone. "Would you rock my world?" She laughed and tried to punch him in the arm, but he easily caught her fist and turned serious again, wrapping his hand tightly around her wrist, restraining her.

"So I skipped detention and made plans to take you to Great America -.”

“Hold on,” Claire interrupted, just realizing something she never thought about that day. “You made plans? How’d you know where I’d be?”

The corner of his mouth twitched into a momentary smile. “I might have talked with Sheila the day before, kept her talking until she spilled your plans. We have English together. She never realized what I was doing.”

“Until you showed up at the mall.”

The twitch returned as a full-blown smile. “Until I showed up at the mall. I’m surprised she never told you.” Claire shrugged. She wasn’t surprised. She’d been keeping Sheila and Diana in the dark about John, stifling any mention of a relationship before Sheila got too enthused about it. She smiled at the thought that she was finally, definitely ready to tell them. Sheila would be ecstatic. “Anyway,” Ryan continued, “I figured I'd treat you like a princess all day. I'd never tried that with anyone before, and since we don't exactly run in the same circles, I didn’t think you’d tell anyone and ruin my reputation if the whole being nice thing didn't work out."

"But it did work," Claire said.

"Not exactly,” he admitted. “I saw you at that expensive mall with your friends and I chickened out. You'd only shown interest in me when I was being a dick, and it seemed safer to just stick with that. I figured the idea of a bad boy fling got you wet, so when we were driving to the park I changed my mind and decided to treat you like garbage all day then fuck you in the back of my car." His hand tightened around her wrist at this. Catching himself, he released her and gave her an apologetic glance. "But then I didn't."

Claire frowned, for a few seconds at a loss for words, not sure how she felt about his admission. She felt angry that he'd planned on stealing her virginity so easily in the back of his car, angry that her breath hitched at the suggestion. "Why did you change your mind?"

His head tilted closer, their eyes just inches apart. "I didn't. I was just as surprised as you at the end of the night when I realized we'd had a great time together. I didn't plan on being nice to you, I just...was. Accidentally. And I didn’t want to ruin it by kissing you again or pushing you to have sex." He shook his head, slowly. "I don't know what happened."

They stared at each other, their faces so close his hair tickled her cheek. She felt winded from his admission, even though she couldn't entirely wrap her head around what it meant. He said he didn't know what happened, but she wondered if that were true. 

Then she wondered if they both already knew what happened and that’s why she felt so raw.

"So what's your truth, Claire Standish?" He whispered. "Why'd you get in the car with me?"

"To tease you," she replied without thinking, her hand snaking behind his head and holding him tight, afraid he'd back away at her admission that he’d been right to call her a tease at detention. Or maybe it was to hold herself in place as she admitted out loud to him the thing she hadn't even admitted to herself. "I liked to tease boys. I've had plenty of opportunities to have sex, I wasn't a virgin because I'm a prude. I was a virgin because I liked how I felt when boys liked me more than I liked them. And they always liked me more than I liked them."

He hesitated, taking in what she said. "That last part might still be true."

"I doubt it," she replied.

He didn't respond to that, didn't even blink, just kept staring at her as though considering. She fought the urge to squirm, both uncomfortable and elated that he'd made her rip open her soul yet again. The same high she'd felt at detention coursed through her now, but this time his judgement mattered. This time, her honesty and self-actualization could cause her to lose something. At detention, she didn't think she had anything to lose.

Finally, one side of his mouth quirked into a faint smile. "No offense Princess, but you're horrible at teasing. Maybe I'd buy it if you could keep your hands off me for than twenty seconds."

She huffed out a relieved laugh. "Go back to your old dick self and maybe I will."

"No you wouldn’t," he said, and he kissed her. His lips were insistent and hot against hers, and seemed to promise so much. But too quickly, he pulled away. "But I won’t risk it. I love your hands on me," he said. 

It was all she needed to hear. She shifted closer, her hand inching down his chest. His eyes went smoky but he stopped her hand. "Not here, Princess."

"What? School's okay but you're afraid of my couch?"

He gave her an exasperated look. "Your mom is home. I'm surprised she hasn't come in here to break us up yet. Just how crazy do you think I am?" He grunted and shifted his weight as she reached for him again, catching her wrists and holding them to his chest. "No. Bad Princess."

"Let's go somewhere, then. Your car." She couldn't get that image out of her head. Teenagers had sex in cars all the time. She couldn't believe they hadn't done it there yet.

"How about we finish watching the movie."

Claire pouted and made a half-hearted attempt to wriggle out of his grip, but he had her trapped. He kissed one of her clenched fists. "We don't have to have sex every minute we're together, you know."

She frowned at him. "We don't not have to, either. And you started it. Let me go."

"Not until you promise to keep your hands to yourself." He gave her a pretend pout. "You're pressuring me."

She tried one more time to pull her hands away, but he had her fast, just raised an amused eyebrow at her. She grunted in irritation, then pouted for real. "Fine. I'll keep my hands to myself. Tease."

John's eyebrow's shot up his forehead then he roared with laughter, releasing her hands and pulling her into a hug. "I can't believe you just called me a tease."

"I can't believe you won't take me to your car," she muttered into his chest, her hands still itching to head south. He kissed the top of her head and turned his attention to the movie, releasing her just enough so she could wiggle her head to face the television. She’d finish watching, if that made him happy. "I'm going to get you when the movie is over," she sang in a low, taunting voice. 

A laugh rumbled through his chest. "I know," he whispered into her hair. 

For ten minutes, they watched the movie. John's breath tickled the top of her head, and with her ear pressed against his chest she could hear his heartbeat. She trailed her hand back and forth across his stomach, as though it were absentminded, but smiled to herself when her fingers roamed too low and his heart raced in her ear. 

It was the most perfect ten minutes of her life.

Then with no warning, it ended.


	14. Chapter 14

"What are you going to do about prom?" John abruptly asked. 

Claire startled, pulling herself from his embrace to stare at him. He let her go without looking at her, just continued to stare at the television, like he considered the question no big deal and not worth his full attention. But she could see the set of his jaw, the seriousness in his face that wasn't there before, and she wasted precious seconds racking her brain at what could have caused his mood to swing to this while she was daydreaming about him fucking her in the back of his car.

"I know you're up for Prom Queen,” he stated to the TV. “I get that. But since you and I are like, a couple, I'm just wondering what you planned to do about bringing a date to the dance." He shrugged and tried to hide a grimace. "You know, if you don't want to bring me."

Claire gaped at him. "It's not that I don't want to bring you...,” she protested, her eyes flicking to the television. There were only five minutes left of the movie. Five more minutes and they could have escaped together, could have spent the rest of the night in his car, sweating and panting and not caring about things like prom or the real world.

He waited for a few seconds, and when she didn't add anything else, turned and looked at her. Silently. Waiting.

What happened in those ten minutes of silence? Why was he doing this?

"It's just...just..." her legs slipped from his lap and her feet thudded into the floor, the noise somehow startling her. "I thought we were keeping a low profile until after graduation," she finally sputtered out. "Didn't we agree on that?"

"We did," he admitted. "But you're my girlfriend. We agreed on that, too. Which means you can't go to prom with someone else. So I'd like to know...what were you planning to do?"

She couldn't stop staring at him. She was angry he thought she couldn't go with someone else, angry he would assume she didn't have a date lined up before she'd even met him. Then angry with herself that she couldn't pretend otherwise, knowing she'd led him to believe there was no one but him. Like a tease. She could feel her teeth biting into her bottom lip, as though if she just concentrated hard enough, she'd see an easy answer. 

He stared back, his eyes darkening the longer she didn’t respond. 

After what felt like hours, he visibly slumped and turned back to the movie – quickly, like he couldn’t look at her any more. "I'm only bringing it up because I would go if you want me to." His eyes dropped to his lap and her heart fell with them. "I mean, I think prom is a stupid waste of time and all, but if you think it'd be worse for you to go alone than with me, I would consider it." He shrugged tiredly at his hands, as though he were sad to be giving them bad news. "Going to the prom, I mean. For you."

Her heart hit bottom and shattered. She wished he hadn't added the "For you" part, it somehow made this so much worse. She'd had everything figured out. If he just hadn't asked, had let this one thing go, they could've made it to the end of the school year. Why didn't he understand how easy this could be? And who was this person sitting in front of her? The John she first met never would have allowed himself to be this vulnerable in front of her.

But that John had been disappearing for weeks. She knew that. She should have seen this coming. After all, he saw it. He saw what was coming next, too, was fighting himself to ignore it. She could see it in his eyes. 

Claire realized her mouth was hanging open and clamped it shut again just as John turned to her. His eyes were guarded now, her lack of response finally making his face rigid in that way that made him look haute and mean. "Forget it. It's a stupid idea. I don't really want to go."

"No, it's just..." She lost her words again and swore to herself. She had no idea what to say, because what she wanted to say the most was also what she wanted to say the least. In the end, she blurted out the worst possible thing. "I told Mike I'd go with him."

He blanked of any expression for a split second, then the old, angry John she’d originally met slid easily back into place. He’d been bracing himself to let it out. Knew he would have to once he found the guts to bring up prom. She saw that now. "You bitch!" he snarled.

"No, it's not like that!" Except it was, and they both knew it.

"That didn't take long, did it, Queenie?" He violently pushed away her reaching hand and launched to his feet. "Things got a little too real for you when faced with losing your crown?"

Claire tried to stand but he shoved her back into the couch, hovering over her with a sneer, his eyes bulging. "John, don't yell! What if my mom hears?"

"You're okay with fucking me in front of your mom but you can't handle being yelled at in front of her?"

"No, I just -."

"Handle this," he shouted over her. "We are through. Don't even look in my direction again."

And with only those few words, he was gone. 

What just happened?

Did he just dump her? She remained slumped on the couch, stunned. She replayed his words in her head.

He'd dumped her.

"He dumped me," she whispered, tasting bile. Shock swept over her like a blanket of ice.

Her mother must have heard. She whipped around to look towards the office with an almost manic desperation, instinctively yearning for her mom to come out and fix things. That’s what mothers did, right? Fixed broken things. But the door was pulled almost shut again, the sliver of light blocked by her mother's looming shadow. As Claire watched, the shadow disappeared. The door quietly clicked shut, and Claire was alone. 

"No." It surprised her to hear her own voice. "No," she repeated, shaking her head. "This is not okay." Her knees wobbled under her own weight as she stood. A car roared to life outside. Two shaky steps brought her to the window in time to see John's car lurch away from the curb.

"No." She had no idea why she kept saying that, but found herself repeating it as she ran back to the couch, frantically digging for the car keys her father had tossed to her earlier. In a quick panic, she pulled up the couch cushion where she'd been sitting and threw it aside, not even bothering to replace it when she found the keys. 

She peered down the hallway and made sure the office door was still firmly shut. It was. Anger swept through her. Of course the door was still shut. She shouldn't feel any emotion toward that. She turned up the volume on the movie just as the end credits began to play, loud enough to hide the sound of the garage door opening and the car starting.

Then she left.

 

She knew approximately where John lived, but not exactly, so it was an incredible bit of luck that she caught up to his rusty old car just as it drove by the high school. 

He passed the football field and turned into a neighborhood. He didn't even go half a mile before turning into a driveway, every movement of his car sharp and violent. Claire skidded to a stop in front of the house, tires squealing in protest, and launched herself from the car. "John, wait!"

He pulled up short just as he'd been about to go up his front steps, his mouth dropping open and one foot hovering in the air. "What the fuck?" he yelled, pulling himself together and half running across the minuscule lawn, meeting her in front of her car. He positioned himself between her and the house, one hand digging painfully into her arm. 

"What are you doing here, Claire?" He emphasized her name in a dark, condescending way, much like he did when talking with Mr. Vernon. "I told you, I'm done with your shit."

"You're done with me?" She challenged, yanking her arm from his grip. It hurt, but she welcomed the pain. It made her feel more focused. "Fuck. You. You don't get to decide you're done with me when you never even gave me a chance to talk. One sentence, John." She held up one finger, right in his face. "I was allowed to say one thing. And that was it for you. That's not fair."

"Fair?" he sneered, stepping into her so she had to crane her neck back to keep eye contact. "You want fair? I'm not allowed to acknowledge my girlfriend in public because she's embarrassed by me. How's that for fair?"

"You wanted it this way! You said you didn't want the drama of dating me! Now who's being unfair?"

He opened his mouth as though to speak then clamped it shut just as quickly when the porch light flared to life, creating a halo behind John's head. "Shit," he muttered, dragging her to the back end of her car, shadowed under a tree. He watched the house for a moment, then for no reason Claire could see dropped into a crouch, dragging her to the ground with him. Off balance, she fell against the car, the license plate digging into her shoulder and road gravel tearing into the back of her thighs. 

"John! What are we -?"

His hand clamped over her mouth. "Shhh!" he demanded.

A screen door banged open, the metal twang echoing down the otherwise quiet street. "Where the FUCK are you, boy?" She was suddenly glad for the hand, glad he held her still, because the foul voice pierced through her and a shriek just spilled out of her mouth.

John's hand stayed firmly against her mouth, his body hovering, shielding her. But he made her look into his eyes. "Hey," he whispered. "It's okay. I won't let him near you." She must have looked scared or doubtful or something, because he kept staring at her and said it again. "I promise you, he won't come anywhere near you. Okay?" he insisted, nodding until she nodded back that she understood.

So they sat there, hiding in the street from a drunk man. But John's gaze never left hers. She would've thought he'd be embarrassed to have her here, listening to his drunk, abusive father, but if he was, it didn't show in his eyes. Nothing showed, really. He just stared, like he could drink her up. But not really even that. 

"I know you're home, ya little fag. Your car's here." The voice, drawling in a drunk, Midwestern way, drained away into almost nothing. Then it belched loudly and revved up again. "Where. The FUCK." A grunt was quickly followed by the sound of breaking glass in the street. The noise made Claire gasp and flinch but John held her in place, shaking his head and moving his face closer.

"He's almost done, I promise," John whispered in barely more than a breath of sound. "Just hold on one more second."

"I need cigarettes," the voice drifted toward them, aimlessly and without the passion of a few seconds earlier. Claire must have moved or squeaked or something, because John shook his head again. He pressed a finger against his mouth in a "shhh" sign, his face so close he could do it without removing the rest of his hand from her mouth. His eyes bore into hers, demanding her attention, and she gave it. She was terrified of the voice and not sure what was happening and it was so easy to just fall into his eyes. 

The sound of bare feet slapping down the concrete steps drifted towards her, a mouth-breathing grunt emphasizing every step. The footsteps paused at the bottom, a series of soft belches and scratching sounds drifted towards them, then the feet flopped back up the stairs again, the railing groaning under the strain of the weight. The screen door slammed shut and the slurring voice began yelling again, disappearing as it faded into the bowels of the house.

John never looked away from her. She remained safely trapped in his eyes, even when his hand dropped from her mouth. For a long time, neither of them moved, and were it not for the gravel gouging into her thighs she could almost image they were back in the Tunnel of Love, staring at each other as though just seeing each other for the first time. 

She could've stayed there forever.

But eventually he closed his eyes, briefly and with a sigh, then hauled her to her feet. 

"You okay?" he asked, his voice low and cautious. 

"Yeah," she straightened her shirt and wiped the gravel from her pants. "Of course. My parents are jerks sometimes, too." She tried to shrug nonchalantly, but nerves got the better of her and she ended up twitching instead. The difference between what she just witnessed and her parent's fights was vast. She wasn't sure why she was trying to pretend she understood. 

But he nodded anyway while deliberately stepping between her and the house, taking her elbow to lead her away. Over his shoulder, she finally saw what he didn't want her to see, and put a hand to his chest to stop him. 

The house, now illuminated by the porch light, was nothing more than a shack. There was so little paint left on it she wasn't sure what the original color had been, and the entire thing visibly leaned into the branches of a large maple tree in the side yard. The front of the house was only big enough to hold a single bare picture window and the front door, both of which appeared to lean in the opposite direction as the house. It looked like a sad, dingy Dr. Seuss house. 

She could see right into the front room, a plaid threadbare couch the only visible item in the room. Nothing decorated the walls, no family pictures, no decorations, not even a full coat of paint. A single bare bulb glared from the ceiling, without so much as a cheap fixture to soften the light. As she watched, a wobbling fat man in nothing but tattered jeans shuffled through the room, in one doorway and out the other, his mouth hung open in a perpetual holler she could still hear.

"This is where you live?" Claire blurted. 

"Don't. Look. At the house." He demanded through a clenched jaw, his back still turned to what Claire couldn't stop gaping at. He took her arm in another vice grip and moved to push her towards the door of her car. 

But she was done being pushed around by him. She dug in her heels and leaned hard against the hood of her trunk. "No, I'm not going anywhere. I want to talk to you."

He laughed bitterly and tried to pry her from her spot against the car. "We are not talking here. You don't belong here."

"I belong with you," she insisted, and though it surprised her to say it, it felt right. 

John obviously didn't agree. He pulled up short in his attempts to remove her from her spot and instead rounded on her, eyes blazing with fury. "Don't say that. Don't you ever say that!"

"I only meant -."

"You do not belong here. That house?" He pointed with a violent thrust. "That piece of shit house is where I belong. Not you. You don't belong here." His grip on her bicep somehow tightened even more. 

"You're hurting me," she whimpered, even though he wasn't. 

"Yeah? Good," he spat, though he dropped his grip from her arm altogether and jabbed a finger in her face instead. "Because that's what happens in that house."

"I only meant -," she tried again.

"I will burn that house to the fucking ground before I allow you to step one foot into it." She blinked at him, speechless at the venom in his words. "Do you understand me?" he pushed, his eyes wild, the angry cool she usually saw in him gone. He waited for a nod and when she gave it, he pushed himself away from her, violently and quickly. "Leave," he demanded.

It only took her a few seconds to collect herself, to remind herself why she was here. "Come with me," she said.

He turned away with a bark of sharp laughter. "No way. I've got better things to do."

"Come with me," she pleaded again, louder this time, her voice decisive. 

He hesitated. She held her breath as he slowly turned back to her. "Why? What's the point of this, Claire?"

She strode away from him and opened the passenger door of her car, leaning against it and making an attempt to halt the trembling with a flirty smile. Flirty felt good, it felt liberating. It felt like she'd transported them back in time, like she hadn't just seen his shithole of a house, hadn't hid from his drunk father, hadn't writhed in shame as her parents fought in front of him. 

Hadn’t admitted that she was too embarrassed to bring him to prom.

She forced the flirty smile to stay in place. "The point is I don't always want to wonder what would've happened if you just got in the car."

He didn't so much as crack a smile.

But after what felt like an eternity, he got in the car.


	15. Chapter 15

They approached their spot behind the shed from the opposite side this time, parking in the lot opposite the school and entering the stadium from under the bleachers. It was well after one in the morning, but the field's floodlights were on and raucous voices carried from the playing field. 

"What moron is playing football in the middle of the night?" John muttered, walking towards the break in the bleachers and peering through. 

Claire followed, but when John tensed and snorted with a sound of contempt, she knew who was on the field. She stood on tiptoe to look over his shoulder, and when she verified that Mike was indeed one of the yelling, laughing boys, she felt a surge of anger. He'd dropped her off at her house four hours ago. Was that why he seemed in a hurry to leave? Did he dump her so he could go out with his friends? 

The sound of cheering and giggling erupted above them, and both John and Claire craned their necks to see that the bleachers held a group of girls, watching the boys and laughing along with them. "Show me what you've got, Mike!" a voice called out amongst the giggling. "I want to see it all!" Claire's jaw set as she recognized Samantha's voice. 

A bitter jab sat ready on her tongue, but at the last second she caught John's eyes. His jaw was set, too. He was watching her reaction. And she realized...

...she didn't care. Yes, Mike dropped her off and went out with other friends, including girls. A crowd of people who she should have been with, who if she'd been acting herself the past few weeks, she would have been with. But she wasn't with them, and it wasn't because she was being shunned. It was because she didn't want to be with them, and she'd made it known. 

She wanted to be with John. Even standing here, with the choice clearly laid out in front of her, there was no choice. She didn't want to be with her old friends. 

She'd made up her mind weeks ago. 

"Forget them," Claire whispered, tugging him back into the furthest shadows. Silently, she led him along the underside of the bleachers, out the far side, and behind the shed with the yellow door. The sound of girls cheering and a radio playing and boys roughhousing followed them, a constant background noise. 

John leaned against the building and lit a cigarette. "Aren't you afraid your boyfriend is going to catch us back here?"

"He's not my boyfriend," Claire rushed over the words, though in her head she made a note to make that true on Monday morning. "I don't want him."

"But you're going to prom with him."

"No," Claire insisted with a vehemence that felt more certain than anything. "I made a mistake when I told him I'd go to prom with him. I can fix it. I can change my mind."

“Why did he even ask you?” he blurted out, suddenly sounding exasperated. “You’re with me all the time and I never see you hanging out with him. Why would he think -?” His eyes widened as his words cut off, and when he focused on Claire again, she actually shivered at how hostile and suspicious his gaze felt. “Did you ask him?”

“No,” she said. She was dismayed at how dishonest her voice sounded, even though it was the truth. Sort of. She hadn’t been the one to ask. 

But she took a deep breath and steeled her voice to be strong, because the truth wasn’t going to help her now. “He asked me before you and I were serious. I should have told you.” She kept her eyes focused on the ground, because she was sure the truth – that she’d flirted her way into a date with Mike just this afternoon, less than twelve hours ago – would be stamped across her face and betray her. “I should have told him to find another date, but I didn’t want to go alone, and I didn’t think you’d want to go with me.” Hesitantly, she raised her eyes to his now. “I was wrong. And I will fix it.”

John eyed her as he took a long drag of his cigarette, then exhaled in a rush and used his cigarette hand to violently thrust in the direction of the oblivious football players. "You do NOT belong with him!"

"I know."

"He won't treat you right."

"I know."

"You were only going to go to prom with him so you could win that stupid crown."

"Yes," Claire nodded, her head bobbing as though on a string, up and down, up and down, she could hardly agree fast enough. "I'm sorry. I felt pressured, it felt important when I was talking with my friends. But it's not, I can see that now. You're more important to me. You are."

He looked like he was going to say something else, but instead he took another drag and swore at the ground. "I don't want him," Claire repeated. "I want you." She desperately wanted to touch him, to go to him and run her fingers through his hair, to get everything back to how they were just forty minutes ago - was it seriously just forty minutes ago everything fell apart? - before she had to admit to her mistake. Before she even realized how bad of a mistake she'd made. 

"Go to prom with me," she heard herself say. She felt surprised at her words, but it was a dull, nervous sort of surprise, not because she didn't want to say the words, but because she didn't know she had the guts to say them at all.

"Go to prom with me," she said again, louder. 

He hesitated, then dropped his half-finished cigarette, grinding it with his boot. "You don't want that."

"I do."

He shook his head. "I'm not going to your stupid pansy prom. What the fuck is someone like me going to do at some sissy dance like that?”

She acted like she hadn't heard him. "I have to be there for the Court Ceremony, otherwise I wouldn’t ask. We'll show up in time for the crowning, then we'll leave. Together."

"What if you win?"

"I won't. I never had a chance." She had had a chance. A very good one, in fact. Pretty much a sure thing. But the students voted this upcoming week, and by Monday afternoon everyone would have heard that she'd dumped Mike Arlington in order to go to prom with John Bender. Burnout John Bender. She couldn't count on any votes after the word got out.

It didn't matter. Prom Queen seemed unimportant now. A plastic crown. "Go with me."

"No." But his eyes were larger now, questioning rather than accusing, and she knew she had a chance. 

"Please." He didn't respond, didn't move in any way, but an invisible shift in his attitude let her know she could approach him now. She took one tentative step forward, hand outstretched. "I don't mind everyone knowing."

He threw his hair back out of his eyes, an arrogant sneer taking over his face. "What if I mind?" he asked, and she stopped in her tracks. "You think you're the only one precious enough to have a reputation to protect? You don't think I'm going to have to defend myself against my friends if word gets out I went to prom at all, more or less with someone like you?" 

She bit her lip, studying him. She wasn’t going to play his game, wouldn’t get mad. "Fine,” she answered, impressed with how cool she sounded. “Do you mind?"

He stared at her without answering, instead pulling his cigarette box out of his coat and tapping it against his wrist before pocketing it again without taking one. "You really piss me off, you know?"

"Do you mind?" she calmly repeated.

"I'm not kidding. You drive me absolutely criminally insane."

"Do. You. Mind?"

"No," he snapped. "Do you?"

"No." And she reveled in how delicious that felt, to know she'd broken free from the chokehold her popularity had on her. She'd never felt anything so powerful before, the act of not caring, of knowing she'd be immune to whatever criticism was thrown her way. 

She could be just like Andy. He'd turned completely away from his friends, just wrapped himself up in Allison. Claire could do the same with John. She wanted to do the same.

She took the final two steps and wrapped her arms around him, her hands reaching under his shirt to clasp his skin, fingernails digging in. His scent filled her brain and without saying another word, he dragged her to the ground. 

The sex was rough and frenzied, and quenched a simmering need within her to put the argument behind. He'd been rough before, but only because she'd asked him to do so. She loved feeling achy after and relished being able to feel his fingers still digging into her skin hours later. She usually had to beg him to be rough, he was always hesitant, worried about hurting her. She loved that about him, too. 

This time, she didn't have to ask, more or less beg. In her head, she imagined he was punishing her. She ate up the feeling that he was possessing her and secretly loved the act of having sex to the sound of her cheering friends. She'd never been so confident in herself, known so fiercely that she was right where she was supposed to be.

Twenty years later, in a bowling alley bar across town, she still remembered that feeling with excruciating clarity. And by then she knew: He had been punishing her.


	16. Chapter 16

Saturday, July 17, 2004

 

"So everyone except Bender is here," Andy repeated. "It's been a while since I've talked to him. Do we know if he's coming, Allison?"

Allison shrugged and looked at Brian, who shook his head that he didn't know, either. Claire noticed that no one thought to ask if she knew. She did not want to be talking about this. In fact, she very much wanted to change the subject from John, and was more than willing to listen to any number of boring stories to avoid it. She cast a desperate glance towards Brian, who picked up on it immediately. Some things never change.

"Enough about John, he's not even here," Brian gestured toward Allison and Andy. "Why don't you tell Claire about your life after graduation? It's quite the story."

"Good idea," Claire agreed, grateful for Brian's quick thinking. She turned her attention back to Allison. “I never heard how it happened, I just got that email from you one day that the two of you had gotten married.” She knew impressively little about what had happened to anyone in Shermer after graduation. She’d left for California two days after the graduation party her mother made her have, promising to be back in time to start college at Wheaton in the fall, assuring her parents that she just wanted to see another part of the country before starting college. But she never came back. Literally. This was the first time. 

"It's a boring story," Andy protested with a wave of his hand. 

"It's not boring," Allison reprimanded. "You just don't like the way the college years went. That doesn't make it a boring story." She placed her hand in his. "Besides, it all worked out in the end. You don't have to be embarrassed." He patted his free hand over their entwined ones and smiled at her. Claire took in every look they shared, every casual touch. She had a hard time imagining things not working out in their life, they seemed so content. What could they possibly complain about?

"Well," started Andy, "Do you remember that Shermer High was in the state wrestling championship that year?"

"Yeah, of course," commented Brian. Claire didn't remember that at all.

"A scout saw me and a few weeks after graduation I was offered a full scholarship to wrestle for the University of Michigan. So the following August that's where I moved."

"I went with him," inserted Allison. "Not to go to college, that was never on my to-do list, but just to be with him. I snuck into his dorm all year, pretending I was a student, but I was really just shacking up with Andy. It was fun."

"It was fun," he agreed, trying to look unembarrassed and failing miserably. "But then I started screwing up. I wasn’t studying enough, and I drank and got high a lot. A month into my sophomore year I lost my place on the team because of a positive drug test, and was failing three of my classes. Allison finally had enough and threatened to leave me if I didn’t clean up.”

“He was such a mess,” she lamented, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “For someone who only did drugs once during high school, he sure got into them quick in college.” She smiled at him. “I had to put my foot down.”

“You did,” he agreed. “Thankfully she didn’t get caught up in all that, she was clean and sober enough to pick up after me time and time again. When everything came crashing down around me, she gave me a choice: I could stay in Michigan and keep partying, or I could go back to Illinois with her and clean up. It was an easy choice. We packed up and came home."

"Got married on Christmas Day that year," Allison proudly said. 

"I forgot how young you two were when you got married," Claire commented. 

"Yeah, but we knew we were always going to be together," Allison said as she sipped her drink, discovered it was empty, and took Andy's instead. "So when we moved back here and his parents had a fit about us living together -."

"They never even knew she was in Michigan with me!"

"- we decided it was probably time to get married," Allison finished as though Andy hadn't interrupted. "So we did. A small wedding, just family."

"Afterwards we opened presents and ate Christmas cookies." Andy flagged down a waitress and ordered more drinks. "This round's on me," he insisted before returning to the story. "It was hard at first," he admitted. "We basically worked minimum wage jobs for five years. Then Allison got a book published."

Claire gaped. "You wrote a book?" 

"I've written a lot of books," Allison admitted, clearly bashful about all the attention. She was a true Minnesotan. "I just keep quiet about it, because I don’t like the attention. I write romance novels. Mainly medieval dramas."

"Romance? Like "heaving bosoms" type of romances?" Claire was trying to wrap her head around this piece of information. How did she not know Allison was an author?

"Those are the ones!" she laughed. “But officially, as a romance author, we’re a little offended by that generalization.” She winked and Claire laughed.

"That seems so unlike you, you were always so...dark."

She disagreed with a wave of her hand. "I already told you, I wasn't that dark. Besides, it turns out I'm pretty good at writing those sweaty sex scenes. That’s another reason I keep quiet about it," she laughed. “I can’t have the parents knowing I write soft porn!”

“That’s not what it is,” Andy protested, but he needn’t have bothered. The entire table looked impressed. 

"I have to admit, I never would've guessed you had that in you," Claire said. Allison smiled, looking pleased. 

"Anyway, it was easy after that," Andy commented. "Everything fell into place. I got a job selling insurance, we were able to buy a house, and a few years later we started having kids. Not much to complain about." He waved at someone over Claire's head. "Allison, its Bobby! Let's go say hi!" Allison grinned in apology as Andy dragged her away. 

Brian slid into Allison's empty seat across from Claire, encouraging his wife to move next to him. "I'm surprised you came," he said. "Weren't you afraid of running into John?"

"Wow," scowled Claire. "Right off the bat we're going there?"

He took a gulp of his drink but didn't otherwise answer, just chewed on an ice cube and grinned at her. She glowered at him for a second, then pointedly turned her gaze to Sarah. "Oh, she knows the whole story," Brian said.

"What? You just run around telling everyone about how awful I was in high school?"

Sarah looked taken aback and Brian patted her hand reassuringly. "No, Claire. I didn't just tell everyone, I told my wife. Husbands and wives don't keep things from each other."

Claire had to reign in another glower. She'd kept a lot of things from her ex-husband and it pissed her off to be reminded that yet another couple was happier than she'd been with Nick. "I wouldn't know," Claire said, allowing coldness to lace her voice. "I’m divorced."

Brian nodded as though he wasn't surprised. "I saw a picture of your ex-husband."

Claire narrowed her eyes at the tone of his voice, like he was about to reveal something to her. "And?"

He chewed noisily on his ice and took another drink. "And he looks a lot like John."

"He does not! He has blonde hair, and...and...he doesn't look anything like John."

"You'd never confuse them for brothers or anything like that, true. But the way he dressed, the way he holds himself, just the general feeling he gives out reminds me of John. You don't see that?"

"That's a lot to assume from one picture. Where’d you find a picture of him anyway?"

Brian grinned. "I have to admit, I love computers and I'm a bit of a cyber-stalker. Turns out Nick is good at computers, too. He has quite a presence online.” This was news to Claire. It must have been something Nick got into after they separated. She wasn’t even entirely sure what “online presence” meant.

“I’ve actually seen more than one picture,” Brian admitted. “Nick puts a lot online. Cute kid, by the way."

"Thanks. Why were you cyber-stalking Nick?"

"I wasn't," Brian shrugged. "I was trying to cyber-stalk you, but since you don’t do much online, I looked up Nick. I wanted to know what you were up to, how things had been going. And since you never answered my many messages asking for your phone number, I took matters into my own hands.”

“That’s creepy,” she accused.

“It is,” he agreed, not looking nearly repentant enough to appease Claire. “I'm very persistent. You should know that."

Sarah smiled at him. "He is. That's why we're married."

Brian laughed. "She jokes about it, but it's true. I badgered her for six months before she agreed to go out with me."

"He was too preppy for my taste," Sarah admitted with a wrinkled nose.

Claire thought he still looked too preppy for her. She had dreadlocks and dressed like a hippie straight out of a Woodstock poster. They made an odd-looking couple.

"You don't think Nick looks like an eighteen-year-old John?" Brian asked as he turned his attention back to Claire. 

"No."

"He smokes, his hair is cut the same way, long and in his face, his clothes now in 2004 look almost identical to the hand-me-down style John wore in the mid-80s, he keeps jumping from crappy job to crappy job. Is Nick even employed right now?"

"Nick acts nothing like John did. John didn't even have a job in high school."

"I'm really more referring to the similarities in style. I find it odd you married someone who looks like a high school Burnout."

"Okay! Stop, I get it."

"But as long as you brought it up, I'll bet Nick is one of those guys who always thinks the system is out to get him, who's laid back and cool as long as he doesn't have to conform to a job or anyone else's expectations. I'll bet then he gets really angry."

"Stop, Brian."

"Am I right?"

"You got all that from some online pictures?"

"That and knowing your personality."

"It's been twenty years. Perhaps my personality has changed."

"So I didn't accurately describe Nick?"

She huffed at him. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. You're being a jerk."

"You kind of are," Sarah agreed.

Brian spread his hands in a what-are-you-going-to-do gesture and leaned back in this seat, silent. 

Claire continued to glare at him for a minute, then threw her hands up. "Fine. Yes. You're probably right. I married Nick because he reminded me of John. Happy now?"

Just as in high school, Brian seemed unimpressed with her moods. He never let a little thing like her anger or discomfort with the truth stop him from telling her like it was. "I'm just guessing that sucked a bit, being married to a thirty year old guy who still acted like he was in high school."

She was surprised at how well he'd pinpointed it. She'd met Nick in a bar and fallen madly in love with him that very night. Her friends thought he was a loser and continuously told her so, and to some degree, she couldn't argue with them. But she married him anyway. Even though he couldn't keep a steady job. Even though he thought "the system" was out to get him when she requested he put on nice clothes for dinner out. Nick had acted...like a high school loser. 

For a long time she ignored all that, because he reminded her of what she had wanted and thrown away. The immaturity was almost a bonus, because when she wasn't pissed about his lack of responsibility, she could pretend she was eighteen and in love with her bad-boy fling again.

But then she became pregnant with Evan, and Nick's immaturity slapped her in the face every day. His mistakes were never his fault, and he never felt guilty about them. He lost nine jobs in the five years they'd been married, and cheated on her three times. One of those times only four weeks after Evan was born. Yet she was the nag. Even now, he couldn't understand why a single two-week visit a year with his son wasn't enough for Claire to think him a good father. Clearly, he'd said to her more than once, he was doing his best and Claire should be more accepting. She sometimes wondered if he was perpetually stoned. The thought made her glad his whore was at the house with Evan. 

"It did suck," Claire admitted. "He was really immature."

"I'm sorry you had to go through that. Divorce is a bitch, especially when you have kids." She nodded into her drink and he reached across the table to place his hand over hers. Absentmindedly, remembering the action from hundreds of times before, she gave him her second hand, too, lacing her fingers through his. She felt young again, squeezing Brian's hand, letting it comfort her, afraid he'd let go. She'd forgotten how he'd always been there for her after, how they'd sat quietly on his back porch in the warm spring afternoons, his fingers wrapped protectively around hers. How the pressure of his hands kept her from unraveling. 

But she could only relish in the feeling for a few moments before feeling uncomfortable in front of Brian's wife, even though Sarah didn't look like she minded. With what she hoped was a brave smile, she untangled her hands.

Brian grinned and raised his glass to her, encouraging her and Sarah to do the same. "To old friends," he said. "And to new beginnings."

"That's so cliché," Claire snorted, but she raised her glass anyway and they clanked together, the bar glasses making a solid sound compared to the light wine glass clink she was used to.

It took her a second to realize something felt wrong. She felt crowded and Brian was giving her a strange grin and...there were four glasses raised together. 

She found the arm attached to the extra glass, and followed it up.

"Hey, Princess."


	17. Chapter 17

May 1984

 

John didn't call her Sunday. She tried to tell herself it didn't matter. 

But on Monday he wasn't in school. When he didn’t show up on Tuesday either, Claire found herself repeatedly going back in time, over-analyzing what'd been said Saturday, debating if she'd somehow misunderstood. He agreed to go to prom with her, but he seemed frustrated about it. Maybe he was having second thoughts and didn't have the balls to face her.

On top of John’s absence, as though the world was scheming to crush her into the ground, Mike wasn't in school, either. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. 

"I need your help," Allison whispered to Claire on Tuesday after lunch. It was the first time Claire had seen her voluntarily removed from Andy's side since they'd gotten together. "Can you go to the mall with me after school?"

Claire's initial response was to say no. But then she remembered John hadn't been waiting for her behind the shed yesterday. She'd checked, even though she knew he wasn't in school. She was hoping he'd skipped school but would still show up at the shed for her. 

He hadn't.

"Yeah, I'm free. What do you need help with?"

 

Allison needed a prom dress. 

"I wasn't sure if Andy was going to be able to take me," Allison explained once they'd arrived at the second-hand formal store. "He asked this other girl a long time ago and couldn't figure out how to break it off with her, but over the weekend she called him and said she was going with someone else."

Claire already knew about Kathy dropping Andy. The two of them never dated, but Kathy was determined to go to the prom with a Jock and had asked Andy months ago to guarantee herself a date. Kathy was a manipulator and one of the nastiest people Claire had ever met, so she'd taken a fair amount of pleasure watching Kathy's frustration over the drama created by Andy and Allison. 

It disturbed Claire how often she now found herself thinking her friends were horrible people. She hadn’t spent much time feeling disturbed about it before detention. She’d even been offended when in detention, John claimed that “activities people” were assholes. She still believed not all activities people were assholes.

But it was becoming apparently obvious that her friends were.

In the end, Kathy got what she wanted anyway. Nasty people always did. She announced at lunch that she'd "dumped Andy" and had a new date for the prom. The new date was another Jock named Stubby who up until last week had been dating one of Kathy's friends. It had been widely rumored that the couple was having relationship problems, but considering how quickly Kathy swooped in, Claire wondered if she hadn't been the problem in the first place. It all seemed a bit too coincidental. But the drama it created knocked Claire's quirkiness and Andy and Allison's relationship out of contention for hottest rumors, and for that, Claire was grateful. 

But she was really starting to wonder what she’d ever seen in her friends.

Allison, oblivious to everything, glowed with happiness over being able to go to prom with Andy. "What about this one?" She asked as she twirled, showing off the pink silk ruffles. 

Claire wrinkled her nose. "I don't know. I'm not sure pink is your color."

"It's really not, is it?" Allison posed in front of the mirror, jutting out a hip and pouting. "Andy suggested I make something, but I think I'd go all artsy crazy and I don't want to stand out too much." She sighed and backed up to Claire for help with the zipper. "I'm not sure what I'm even looking for. I don't know the first thing about these generic prom dresses."

Claire unzipped the dress but instead of taking it off, Allison plopped onto the stairs, a disgusted heap of chiffon and silk. Frustration etched her face.

"What's wrong?" Claire asked, sitting as close to Allison as she could without sitting on the dress. It wasn't close enough to put an arm around her shoulders, so she linked her hand through Allison's elbow. "The pink isn't that bad, but we can find another -."

"Do you think detention changed us?" Allison interrupted.

Claire blinked in surprise. "What do you mean?"

Allison gestured to the waves of pink billowing around her. "This. I've changed. Two months ago I wouldn't have dreamt of going to prom, more or less in a frilly cliché thing like this." She picked at a ruffle and let her hair fall across her face, hiding it. Just like she did at detention. Claire suddenly realized just how much Allison had changed, how very different she was from the Allison she'd first met. She talked now. She didn’t lie, or antagonize or throw around drama. She brushed her hair and took care of herself. She smiled. And the longer she dated Andy, it seemed, the smaller her bag became. Like she’d stopped carrying all that crap around with her because she’d decided to stick around after all.

It was like talking to a completely different person.

"I just wonder if maybe...maybe I'm changing too much for Andy. Maybe he only likes me because I'm trying so hard to be someone I think he would like. Maybe he wouldn't like the real me at all." 

Claire didn't even have to think about it. "The real you was pretty apparent at detention. You definitely weren't trying to impress any of us there, right?"

Allison frowned into the silken folds. "I guess not."

"If you were trying to impress us," Claire laughed, "you failed miserably. You were the most cut-throat and honest person there that day, and you made us be honest with you, whether it scared us or not. It wasn't pretty. You didn't even brush your hair that morning, remember? I had to do it for you when we did your make-up. But that's the Allison he fell in love with."

She peeked at Claire through strands of hair. "You think? I don't know..."

"You don't see the way he looks at you,” Claire insisted. “He’s obviously crazy about you.” She dug one of Allison's hands out from the waves of pink. "But yes. If I’m being honest, you have changed. But it’s not that you’ve changed for some guy, it’s that you act like you have something to feel happy about now.”

Allison seemed to think about this, staring into her pink lap, her lips twitching back and forth between a smile and a frown. She eventually settled on the smile and glanced at Claire. "He is crazy about the real me, isn't he?"

"Undoubtedly," Claire replied with a smile.

Allison looked relieved for a moment, then squeezed Claire’s hand. “Speaking of not seeing the way he looks at you…”

“Don’t,” Claire warned. She didn’t want to turn this into her and John. Not now. Three days ago she would have jumped at the chance to tell Allison what was going on. She knew Allison would understand. But the certainty she’d felt about him on Saturday had been chipped away with every passing hour she didn’t hear from him. 

“Have you spoken to him since detention?” Allison asked anyway. 

Claire sighed and took her hand from Allison’s. “A few times,” she admitted. “But I’m serious. I’m too stressed out about prom, I can’t talk about this right now. Maybe later.” It was weird they both knew who they were talking about even though neither said his name.

“Alright,” Allison said, skeptically. Then she stared up at the ceiling and sighed. "I can't wait to see Andy all dressed up in his tuxedo. He's going to look so sexy."

Claire laughed, relieved. "I'm sure he'll clean up nicely once you get him out of his letterman's jacket and jeans."

"I brought my camera with. He asked me to take a picture of the dress I pick so he can try and match his tux to it. I don't know if other boys do that, but I thought it was really sweet." Her face puckered as she seemed to realize something. “I hope it was only a 24-picture roll of film. I was on 22, and I’d hate to waste a bunch of pictures so I can get this developed on time.”

Claire was about to agree that it was a sweet thing to do, but her mental image of Andy in a tuxedo morphed into an image of John in his typical ratty clothes. She pushed her brain to see him differently, to see him in a tux at the prom, but the best she could do was the clothes he'd worn the day she went to his detention, when he actually tried to dress up for her and still only managed a t-shirt and jeans.

Her breath caught. She'd asked him to prom. Could he afford the tuxedo rental? Should she have offered to pay for it? 

No. He'd never accept money from her.

Besides, it didn't matter what he wore. 

Really. It didn't matter. It was just a stupid dance, and if he showed up in blue jeans and a t-shirt because that was all he could afford, she'd accept that. Andy would bring Allison to prom no matter what she wore, was ready to accept who she was. She could do the same for John. She didn't need him looking like a clone of every other boy there. Right? She liked that he was different from the other boys, she didn't need him dressed up one night to prove anything to her. 

Right?

Yes. Right.

But the image of Mike in a tuxedo haunted her for the rest of the night.


	18. Chapter 18

"Where have you been?" Claire demanded the next day.

John huffed and shrugged while lighting a cigarette, leaning against the wall of the maintenance shed. His hands were busy with his cigarette and lighter, hands that were usually busy holding her. 

He took a drag, eyes hidden behind his shades, so dark she couldn't see much of anything past them. "I was sick."

"Really?"

He scowled. "What, are you my mother now? Yes, I was sick."

She hesitated at the anger in his tone. "You could have called me.” She struggled to keep her voice even, to not sound accusatory. “I was worried about you." She studied him more closely now, wishing he would take off the dark glasses so she could see his eyes. Hair was falling into his face too, but it didn’t completely cover the dark purple peeking from under his left shade. 

“Oh my God,” Claire breathed as she reached out to pull off his glasses. Faster than she’d ever seen him move, his hand was around her wrist, pushing her away.

“Don’t touch it,” he growled.

“But your eye -.”

“- is fine. Nothing is wrong with my eye.”

“Did your dad -.”

“Nothing’s wrong, alright?” he burst out. “You don’t always need to have your fucking hands on me.”

For a few seconds, she was too shocked to move. She simply stood there, empty, her discarded hand hovering between them. But then her body had to breathe again, and forced her back into motion. Slowly, she pulled her hand back, pressing it safely into her chest. She knew she was gaping at him like he’d slapped her, but she couldn’t stop, had to dig her fingernails painfully into her sternum to remind herself she was still here, this was really happening. He really just told her to keep his hands off of him. 

He looked at her, and though it was hard to tell through the shades, she thought for a moment he looked sorry. Like he might say something to take back the words, or even reach out to her.

But he didn’t. Instead he looked away and took a long drag from his cigarette. The silence stretched into awkwardness as she pressed her hands into her chest. As though she could keep her heart from shattering. Why was he acting like this? Was he pushing her away because he was embarrassed his dad hit him? But somehow she knew the black eye and his anger at her weren’t related. 

“Look, it’s no big deal,” he insisted out of the blue. As though her silence ate away at him more than her words. “Sometimes Pops sobers up on Sundays. And when he’s sober, he remembers every little thing Mom and I did to piss him off during the week.” He glanced at Claire, but she kept quiet, knowing he’d stop talking if she didn’t. “I’m used to it, okay? I know what I need to do to play him, it was just bad luck this time that he managed to land a punch. At least it wasn’t my mom.”

He looked irritated when she visibly gasped and flinched, so she dropped her gaze to the ground. But it was too late. He was done talking. Getting intimate with his cigarette again. The distance between them seemed like a living, tangible thing now. 

“Is your mom okay?” she asked, hoping to drag him back to her.

“Yes.” Silence.

She nodded in relief, but he wasn’t watching her. “Is that why you stayed home from school? Because of the black eye?”

For a few seconds, she didn’t think he would answer. When he did, his voice was lower than it had been. Less angry. “The old lady’s afraid a teacher’ll call the cops.”

Claire opened her mouth to tell him to call anyway, but his gaze snapped towards hers and even through the dark sunglasses she knew he needed her to let it go. 

She nodded at him instead. "Are we okay?" she whispered, before she had time to talk herself out of it. 

He shrugged, a casual roll of one shoulder. As though none of this mattered to him. "Why wouldn't we be?" He sounded tired.

"You don’t usually act like this. I just want to help but you seem...defensive."

"Why would I be defensive?” he asked, his voice sharpening. “It's not like my girlfriend has two dates for prom or anything."

For the second time in less than a minute, she froze. But this time, her emptiness erupted into a panic. Their friends didn't mix in any way, how would he know she hadn't broken up with Mike yet? "He hasn't been in school," she blurted. "That's all. I'm going to tell him."

"I'm sure he has a phone."

"I'm sure you have a phone," she retorted before realizing she was focusing on the wrong problem. She desperately tried to realign herself, to pull herself off the defensive route and back onto repentant. No wonder he was so angry with her and on top of the black eye, too. God, she wanted to fix this. "You're right. I'll call him tonight. I promise."

He raised one eyebrow, revealing a little more of the purple bruising, but otherwise didn't say anything, just went back to focusing on the cigarette. It didn’t seem like a good time to ask about the tuxedo. 

 

#

 

She avoided her pink princess phone all night, plugging her ears when it rang. Even when it wasn't ringing she avoided looking at it, her eyes flitting around it as she busied herself with homework and prom details. 

She spent a lot of time looking at her prom dress instead, a silken hunter green formal that looked stunning on her. It was hanging off the edge of her mirror, conveniently placed over the photo strip of her and John kissing in the Tunnel of Love. She could only make out the bottom white edging of the photo, not any of the pictures themselves, but her eyes easily slid to it every time she gazed at the dress. 

She'd picked the dress purposely to match the prom queen crown. She knew what the crown looked like and had picked out a similar tiara at the formal shop, wearing it while twirling and dancing in front of the long rows of store mirrors, looking for the perfect dress. The dress that clearly stated she deserved to be wearing that crown. She knew the emerald green dress was the one as soon as she put it on. And the formal shop carried the matching tuxedo set.

That had been a long time ago. Before detention. She'd imagined Mike in the matching tux. It was an expensive rental, the most expensive one the shop had. Her brain still couldn't fit John into it.

The phone rang again.

Images collided in her head. Her emerald green dress, a crown on her head, more beautiful than a plastic trinket. John in ratty clothes, smoking. Allison on Andy's arm, neither able to take their eyes off the other. Mike in a tuxedo.

The white corner of the photo strip.

John’s staring at her, eyes smoky with lust.

One of them ringed with purple.

The crown on another girl's head.

She reached over and unplugged the phone from the wall, silencing it mid-ring.

 

#

 

"Have you even talked to John today?" Brian demanded. He'd been insistent all week, pushing her to tell him what was wrong. She'd brush him off, smile and tell him everything was fine, then feel both annoyed and grateful when he pushed again. 

No one else seemed to notice she was falling apart at the seams. An entire week of barely holding herself together, of not even daring to smile because smiles could turn into laughter and laughter felt insanely close to crying. Not one of her girlfriends noticed she couldn't smile, not even Diana or Sheila. 

But Brian knew. She'd often caught him watching her at lunch, his lips pursed and eyebrows crunched together. He was concerned about her, she knew that, but she couldn't bring herself to tell him what she'd done. Was hoping she wouldn’t have to because all week she’d been telling herself she still had time to fix things. She could fix it. 

But today was the end of the school week, prom looming, only one night away. John still hadn’t shown up for school, but had been behind the shed Thursday, waiting for her, even though Wednesday had been so awkward. Thursday was even more so. They carefully avoided talking about Mike, prom, or the black eye still hidden behind shades. He never moved to touch her. He just stood there, smoking, barely speaking. Like he was waiting for something. 

She was so tired. 

Tired of fighting with herself about exactly how she was going to fix things, tired of pretending she wasn't descending into panic. 

And Brian was so relentless.

"I haven't talked to John," she said as she picked at her school lunch salad. She'd forgotten her lunch at home, which meant if she wanted to eat it would have to be something from the school cafeteria. Of course the day's main dish was hot dogs and soggy French fries. The sad, wilted salad bar was her only option, and she could barely eat it. "Will you just let it go? I'm sorry I told you about him at all."

"No you're not," he retorted. "You have to be able to talk to someone. This thing you have going on with John? This is huge. You're obviously crazy about him."

"I never said that."

"You never had to."

"I'm not crazy about him. I don't even know if I like him that much."

"You're lying."

"I'm not lying to you." She meant to snap at him, but the words came out dead and empty.

"I meant you're lying to yourself." He waved his spork at her, ignoring her half-hearted huff and eye roll. "Look, Claire. You're happy with him. Whenever you talk about him, you light up. Even when I'm giving you a hard time about keeping him a secret, you've got this shitty little grin on your face, like you can't hold it back. But this week, you're dragging around like you’re the star of Sophie's Choice."

"I hated that movie."

"Don't change the subject. What happened between you and John?"

She groaned and hesitantly ate a droopy lettuce leaf. "Drop it Brian, or I'll go back to the cool kid table."

"Did you two break up?"

"No! Besides, we weren't even dating." God, why did she keep lying about that?

He gave her an exasperated look. "Did you dump him because of the Prom Queen thing?"

"No," she mumbled into her salad. "Please stop." 

He gently poked her elbow and she peeked at him without raising her head, reluctant to give him her full attention. "What happened?" he whispered, his gaze boring into hers, wide and earnest.

Her eyes rolled back to the salad, but it was too late. She could feel the words pouring out of her, an unstoppable rush. She really didn't want to tell him. "I told Mike I'd go to prom with him." 

"You mean before you met John? That's not a big deal, he wouldn't expect you to..." He trailed off when he noticed she was shaking her head, still miserably focused on the salad.

"No. Just last week." She heard a short intake of breath, but hurried to rush over it. "I thought I could keep it from John, but he found out and got mad. Then I felt bad that I hurt him, so I told him I'd break it off with Mike." She sucked in a deep breath. "Then I asked John to go to prom with me."

Brian snorted and laughed, stopping only when he noticed Claire wasn't laughing, too. "Bender at prom? For real? That seems a little..." he waved the spork in the air again and seemed at a loss for words. 

"...out of place?" Claire filled in.

"Yeah," he shrugged.

Without warning, tears pooled in her eyes, just on the brink of spilling. 

"Hey, it's okay," Brian insisted. He wrapped one arm around her shoulder, his voice attempting to keep the mood light. "It's not that bad, I'll bet John can do a few dance moves." His lame chuckle died before it really started, and the first tear slid down her face. "Oh, Claire. It's going to be okay. No one will care that you're at prom with Bender."

Angrily she wiped away the tear with her sleeve, taking care to not smudge her mascara. "No, of course not, Brian. No one will care. Just how stupid are you?"

He recoiled, and for a split second she heard herself, heard Old Claire returning, thought about stopping her. But then Old Claire tumbled out anyway. "Where the hell do you get the idea that no one will care? Do you live in some sort of faraway la-la land where everyone loves each other and no one ever gets hurt?"

"I don't -," he started.

"Because I don't live in that world," she spilled over him, her voice cracking, on the verge of hysteria. "I live in a world where people care about how I look and how I'm dressed and how I acted during English class one day, so why would you think in a million years that those same people won't care who I go to prom with?" Her eyes had dried, and she was furious. "How would you feel if all your friends suddenly thought you weren't worth their time anymore? Huh, Brian?" She gestured sharply at the table in the middle of the room where Brian's friends ate with an oblivious Andy and Allison. "How would you feel if those people didn't want to talk to you anymore? Or me? What if I didn't want to talk to you anymore?"

Brian looked horrified. "You wouldn't do that. They wouldn't do that."

"My friends would!" she snapped. "If I bring John to the prom, that will be the end of my friendship with them. I'd be a Nobody. I'd be worse than a Nobody, I'd be that Popular Girl who lost everything!"

"That doesn't say much about your friends, does it?" Brian commented, his face darkening in anger.

"That's not the point."

"It is the point. Who cares what those shallow people think anyway?"

"I care!" she hissed. "Why is it so bad that I care what my friends think about me? Why am I not allowed to care?"

"It's not that you can't care, it's that they're shallow."

"They're still my friends, and I'm going to lose them if I do something stupid like bring John to prom. You might not like it," she said, stabbing him in the chest with her finger, "but that's the way it works."

"Ouch! You don't have to -."

"And because of that day in detention," she cut over him, oblivious to anything besides her spite, "I'm supposed to be this better person? Suddenly, because I had one day where things felt different, I have to have it all figured out and be able to stand up to my friends and not care what anyone thinks about me? That's not fair. I can't just change everything about myself." 

"Hi, Claire."

Brian's attention ricocheted towards the voice, his eyes widening. Claire stared at Brian a few seconds longer, her cheeks turning cold as the anger seeped from them, deflating her. "Hi, Mike," she managed, turning with a smile she hoped wasn't as weak as it felt. 

Mike smiled at her then eyed Brian, sizing him up. Brian tried to nod one of those guy acknowledgments, but since he was fidgeting so much under the scrutiny, it ended up looking like he convulsed. 

"I've been trying to call you all week," Mike commented as his eyes slid back to Claire. “I wasn’t in school for a few days, then you weren’t here.” She had been. She’d just been avoiding him, even went as far as to skip the only class they had together. "We still okay?" he asked, looking suddenly shy.

Claire felt her eyebrows pinch together in what she hoped looked like a confused expression. "Of course we're okay, why would you even ask that?" She laughed lightly now, easing into game face with a fluidity that impressed and disgusted her at the same time. "My mom made me unplug my phone because I have so many tests this week, and Brian's been helping me study. Haven't you Brian?"

Brian blanched at the intense look she gave him. "Oh, yeah. I mean, sure." He shrugged and looked away, his face darkening again. 

"I've just been busy, that's all," she assured Mike.

Mike smiled then, a little half smile that made her remember why all the girls liked him, the one that made him look childishly innocent and a little bit naughty all at the same time. "Great. I mean, I thought so, I just wanted to make sure." He shoved his hands into his jean pockets and let the smile broaden. "So...what time should I pick you up tomorrow?"

Claire ignored Brian's sharp intake of breath, the quick startle of his body. She focused only on Mike. "Four?" she suggested with a smile she knew radiated confidence.

"Four? Isn't that a little early? We don't have to be at the dance until six."

Claire batted her eyes at him. "I just want to get out of the house before my parents go ballistic with pictures and stuff. We can hang out at Rob's house until the dance and help them get ready for the after party."

"You're going to that, too? Awesome!" He grinned, bouncing on the balls of his feet. For a split second she found his excitement contagious. "I'll pick you up at four, then."

"Okay," she agreed. The excitement ebbed away. 

He left without acknowledging Brian in any way. Seasons passed as she sat there, staring at where Mike had disappeared, waiting for Brian to say something, anything. Instead, he sat silent, his gaze heavy and suffocating. Finally, he threw the long-unused spork onto his lunch tray. "What time is John supposed to pick you up?"

"Five," she whispered without even thinking about it.

Brain sighed, a sound that held more contempt than anything he could have said to her, and when she made no move to explain herself, he pushed away from the table and walked away.


	19. Chapter 19

Saturday, July 17, 2004  
The Reunion 

Claire had never been to a reunion of any sort before, be it cosmetology school, a family reunion or otherwise, but she figured it was a safe bet they didn't get any more painful than the next two hours of her high school reunion. 

Within seconds of John's appearance, Samantha, Kathy and a few other girls Claire only vaguely remembered descended on her, a mad flurry of activity that chased Brian, Sarah and John from the bar table, vague promises thrown out that they'd catch up with her later.

She hadn't even pulled herself together enough to say hello to him.

The Popular Girls hadn't changed much. They didn't acknowledge they’d interrupted Claire talking with other people, nor did they say anything to Brian or John when they left. Instead, they pushed the former Brain and Burnout to the periphery, even giving the hippy with them a condescending look. Claire fumed that it seemed so typical of them, then sank from angry to depressed when she realized that once again, she'd done nothing to stand up to them.

They didn't really pay attention to her at first. Once they heard she was a divorcee with one kid who wasn't spectacular at anything, they mainly talked around her, bragging about who had the smartest kid or the richest husband or the hottest lover. It occurred to her she might be able to sneak away without them noticing. But then someone dragged her job out of her and she spent the next hour wishing she'd lied and said she was a waitress. Of course they'd want the details on every celebrity she'd ever worked on. It wasn't any different than when they'd drooled over Sheila's manicuring skills all those years ago in the lunch room, except this time Diana wasn't there to put a nice edge on it.

“Where is Diana?” she asked.

“Oh, she moved to Florida years ago,” Kathy said with a dismissive wave of her hand. 

“Hasn’t she come back to visit?”

“No, she moved right after that friend of hers died. What was her name again? Jane?”

“Sheila.”

“No, that wasn’t it.”

Claire didn’t bother to suppress a growl. “Yes, it was.”

Kathy shrugged, clearly not worried about it. “Alright. Anyway, Diana was supposed to get married right around the same time Shelly died, but she cancelled it. I guess the show just couldn’t go on without her maid of honor.” She emphasized ‘couldn’t go on’ with an eye roll, like Diana had cancelled her wedding over a broken nail. “She moved to Florida right after the funeral and I think her and her fiancé just ended up getting married at a courthouse with no party or anything.” She snorted. “So tacky.”

“That’s a really horrible thing to say,” Claire said. At least she think she said it. She was so angry the connection between her mouth and brain seemed to be gone.

Kathy blinked at Claire. “What was horrible about that?”

“Do you honestly not know? Because I can name at least three things about what you just said that were really, really horrible. Primarily, her name was Sheila.”

“Okay!” Kathy held up a hand between them, as though trying to hold Claire off even though no one had moved. “I get it, her name was Sheila.” Her eyes flitted anxiously towards the group of Popular Girls, but true to form, no one was listening. Everyone was lost in animated conversation with the person closest to them, only Laurel sparing a glance toward the conversation between Claire and Kathy.

Then suddenly, they were gone. They walked away in a clump when Mike and a Jock whose name she couldn't remember showed up, Kathy throwing a relieved look over her shoulder when she realized Claire didn’t follow. Mike didn't acknowledge her, even though she saw him recognize her, sitting alone at her abruptly deserted bar table. 

Dinner was an improvement. She found her detention friends sitting together at a round table for six on the periphery of the room, saving a seat for her. Directly across from John. After all those years, here he sat, only five feet away. It might as well have been a lifetime yawning between them. She tried a few times to speak directly to him, but it felt like everyone was listening and that her voice echoed back to her, so she let herself fall into the group conversation.

It was a wonderful conversation anyway. She was so glad the five of them sat together. They talked most of the dinner about their detention, re-living the memories the way one would prom or a wedding. They laughed hysterically when John told them about the time five years after graduation when Vernon walked into the auto repair shop and gushed about how great a job the mechanic had done before realizing it had been John. When John asked him if he wanted to “knock his dick into the dirt” rather than paying him for the repair, Vernon slunk out without another comment. 

“It was a small victory,” John said, “but it made me feel good anyway. I’d sobered up by then and was new to holding down a steady job. It was great that Vernon turned out to be the first person to compliment me on doing good work.”

Claire laughed and raised her glass to him along with the rest of the table, but she kept staring at him after, hoping no one noticed. Not that she hadn’t been staring before.

He'd aged well. He looked the same to her, unchanged over twenty years, like he hadn't grown older at all, simply gotten a haircut and gained a few pounds around the middle. He did seem to smile more now, which was good. She hadn't really expected that. The smiling. She'd always imagined him scowling, the hurt radiating from his eyes, but even worse, the resignation, like he'd known how things would turn out between them. Like he'd expected it.

He didn't look resigned now. He didn't even look as though their shared memories bothered him, or that he was secretly loathing her behind all the smiling and laughing. She hadn't expected him to look so...

...over it.

"Hey, Princess," John finally said to her again, sliding into the chair Allison vacated when dinner ended and the room went back to mingling.

The first time he spoke to her, hours ago in the bar, she'd been so startled by his appearance that his voice, a sound she'd dreamed about for decades, was lost on her. All she could focus on then was his face, on whether it seemed happy or sad or pissed, and on whether his smile was a real one. So instead of really hearing her nickname, she'd merely reacted to her nervousness of seeing him for the first time since she'd screwed him over two decades ago.

This time was different.

This time the nickname rolled sweetly off his tongue and sunk deep inside of her, igniting a fire in the pit of her stomach, just like it used to. She remembered how cigarette smoke mingled with pine-scented soap used to radiate from him and make desire flare through her body, causing even her finger tips to itch in anticipation. She didn't even have to see him, though his eyes digging into her always fueled the flames. She just had to smell him. It made her feel wild somehow, primal, like the feelings his scent unleashed in her were out of her control. 

He did not smell like that now. 

He didn't smell like anything, really, or maybe she still wasn't close enough to notice, though she swore when she was seventeen she could smell him from across the room. 

"Hey," she replied, dropping her gaze to her lap, every other sense on hyper alert, keenly aware of him. 

"I guess some things never change, huh?"

She frowned at her lap while thinking that over, almost deciding to look up, but at the last moment chickening out. "What do you mean?"

"You always did have a hard time keeping your eyes off me."

She heard the grin in his voice and braved a glance up. He was smiling at her. "You're making fun of me," she accused.

"A little," he admitted.

"I've been really nervous about seeing you."

The smile softened. "Don't be."

Two decades later he finally had her alone, could easily tell her what a bitch she'd been and how angry he was with her. But instead, he was smiling and teasing. She felt herself chewed on her bottom lip, worrying about what to say to him.

"I'm not going to bite you," he laughed when her apprehensive silence carried on too long. 

"I know," Claire half smiled. "I'm sorry to hear about your wife. Allison told me." 

John nodded once and ducked his head. "Thanks."

"That must have been really hard." She mentally slapped herself. "Oh, God that sounded stupid! Of course it was hard. I'm sorry, I don't mean to say cliché, stupid things."

He waved a hand to stop her gushing apology. "No, don't worry about it. I know it's hard to think of something to say. Trust me, I've heard everything and that's far from the stupidest."

"I just don't want to open fresh wounds for you."

"It's okay, you're really not." He folded his arms across his chest and gave a resigned shrug. "Truthfully, it doesn't feel quite as raw anymore. It was over three years ago that she passed away and in the past year, I've been able to remember good things when I think about her instead of just feeling the pain of her being gone." He glanced away and his eyes went briefly vacant, like he'd transported himself somewhere else to have a moment of remembrance. "It's not so awful anymore," he said as he turned back to Claire. "The sharp edge of missing her has worn away enough that I can live again. I want to live again."

"What was her name?" she heard herself ask. She was pleased to hear her voice sounding so distinctly normal. Her heart was breaking for him.

"Emily,” he said with a small smile.

"And your girls?"

"I have three. Madison and Megan are six and eight." The quiet smile turned to a sheepish grin. "They're incredible. They're both really smart and funny. They keep me sane. And fortunately,” he laughed, “they got their looks from their mother.”

Claire smiled at the grin on his face at the mention of his daughters. "And the third? What's her name?"

John's grin stayed, but turned painful somehow. "Lori. She’s from an earlier relationship. She's wonderful, too, of course, but..." His words trailed off when a waiter showed up with new drinks. Claire waited patiently as John took several swallows of his soda, clunked the glass heavily back onto the table, then stabbed at the ice cubes with his straw. 

"I haven't seen her in about five years,” he finally admitted.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

He studied her, lips pressed tightly together, and when she didn't say anything else, he gave a small resigned shrug and continued talking. "I was barely on speaking terms with her mother by the time Lori was born, so I didn't get to see her much. Her mother hated me so Lori learned to hate me, and I didn't try hard enough to change that. It just seemed easier to stay away. I tried to get to know her when she was twelve, but by then it was too late. She didn't want to have anything to do with me." He looked away and made another stab at the ice cubes before abruptly pushing the glass away.

"The truth is, I got completely wasted one night and knocked up a girl I'd just met two hours earlier. I couldn't even remember her name the next day. She had to explain to me who she was when she called a few months later to tell me she was pregnant." 

"Oh."

He continued to stare at his glass, the table, anything but her. "Lori is nineteen years old."

Claire couldn't stop herself from startling. "Nineteen? Wow." She frowned at the crazy thought that one of her classmates actually had a child old enough to be graduated from high school, then the numbers crashed together in her head. "Wait. Nineteen? That would mean -."

He nodded once at the table, quickly. "It was the night of prom. After I left the dance."

Claire felt herself blink, only once, but it felt drawn out and in slow motion, like she fell asleep while her eyes were closed. "Oh," she said again. Why couldn't she think of anything else to say? "Oh my God," she exhaled the words. "It's all my fault."

John immediately raised his head and shook it. "No. I didn't tell you so you'd think that."

"But it is!" Claire insisted as her hands fluttered out of control in front of her. "If I hadn't done what I did you would have been with me that night, you wouldn't have even been with anyone else, I-."

"Claire, stop." John reached for her, hesitating only a moment before touching her to press her arms into the table and holding them still. 

"I'm so sorry," Claire whispered, though it felt like she'd said it just to have something to say since she couldn't express her distress through arm waving.

"I am too. Lori didn't deserve to have a deadbeat father. But that doesn't make it in any way your fault."

"But what I did that night -."

"Even then," he interrupted. "What I did after? That's all on me. It's not your fault. Okay?"

Claire nodded, but it was more of a quick, panicked nod than an agreement nod, and he eyed her skeptically. "Not your fault."

She inhaled a deep breath and forced herself to look calm. "Okay."

He loosened his grip and gestured to her arms, as though asking if he could let go. Claire's eyes travelled to his hands on her and didn't answer, so too soon, John pulled away and settled his hands back in front of himself. "Besides," he continued. "I don't regret her being born, I regret that I chose to NOT grow up and act responsible as soon as I heard her mother was pregnant. Lori’s a great person, she’s really smart and mature. She’s already a sophomore in college, so my bad influence didn’t drag her down too much.”

Claire simply nodded. He smiled faintly then cleared his throat. "I just wanted to tell you about her. Get it out in the open. I've spent the past twenty years ashamed of how I acted that night, and doubly ashamed of how I acted after. And truthfully? I was nervous about telling you. I almost didn't come tonight because I didn't want to admit to you what I did."

Claire just stared at him, stunned. She actually felt a little deflated. All this time she'd been so worried about seeing him again, worried about what he thought of her and it turned out he'd been worried about the same thing. 

"Are you okay?" he asked. "I didn't mean to throw that at you right away, I just wanted to get it off my chest so it wasn't hovering over us all night."

"I've been nervous about seeing you, too," she blurted out. "Because of what I did to you that night."

"I know. It's alright."

"It's not. I was horrible, and I never apologized."

He grinned. "So do it now."

"What?"

"Apologize. Get it out of the way so we can have a normal, reunion-style conversation." 

She caught her breath. This was too easy. "I'm sorry?"

But he seemed eager to let it go. "Great! You're sorry, I'm sorry, we're all embarrassed by what happened on prom night twenty years ago. Let's change the subject."

She nodded even though it didn't seem right. "Okay."

"So what's life been like out in California?"

She hesitated and spoke self-consciously at first, certain there was so much more to say and that all those unspoken words would hang between them. Her brain wallowed in John's deceased wife and his estranged daughter, her own deadbeat ex-husband and her stressful, time-consuming job. The new realization that her actions on prom night had affected his life much more deeply than she ever knew. 

But within minutes he had her gushing about her son and laughing about her ex-husband’s similarities to high school John, something she had never found funny before. He told her about the auto repair shop he owned and Claire told him stories about the movie stars she'd done make up for. It didn't feel like a chore as it had with the Popular Girls. He made her laugh about it. Talking to him was so easy.

He was funny, engaging, no longer bitter or angry. He raved about his girls, brought one to gymnastics practice, the other to karate. He was teaching them how to cook. He took classes at the community college so he'd be better at managing his business. And even though he lost his wife at such an early age, he possessed a certainty about life that was foreign to Claire. He had no doubt he was living life the best he could, no doubt he was moving in the right direction. 

She doubted almost every decision she made. She’d spent so much of her life wondering why she had so little direction, trying to pinpoint exactly why she’d had so much confidence as a teenager only to lose it as an adult. Seeing old high school friends, both detention friends and the Popular Girls, had brought the answer into crystal-clear awareness: 

She hadn't grown past the plastic crown. It had symbolized a rude awakening into adulthood, and instead of learning a lesson from it, she’d let it weigh her down all these years. 

It was time to grow up.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK people! This is where I really need suggestions and constructive criticism. I HATE the last few paragraphs of this chapter. They just never worked for me and were re-written probably 20 times. Very frustrating. I think it's because I'm having adult Claire "re-live" this moment without actually transitioning into a flashback, as I have been doing otherwise throughout this story, but any suggestions would be helpful. 
> 
> Thanks, and I'm leaving for a 10 day trip to Texas to visit friends and get some sun (at least more sun than I'm getting in Minnesota :), so the last two chapters will have to wait until I get back.

“Attention everyone!” Kathy chirped into a microphone from the small, step-up stage at the edge of the room. Claire and John stopped talking and grimaced at each other.

“Attention” Kathy sing-songed again when the room didn’t immediately come to a stand-still. Voices quieted and chairs groaned as people turned towards the stage. Kathy grinned and struck a pose. “Welcome home, Shermer High School Class of 1984!” The room broke out into raucous applause, a few whoops and cat-calls thrown in as Kathy waved as though the applause were for her. 

Claire rolled her eyes and stopped listening after four more Popular Girls crammed onto the tiny stage. She really wasn’t interested in anything they had to say, especially when John was conveniently positioned between her and the stage, making it oh-so-easy to watch him while pretending she was paying attention. Even if it was a little pathetic and creepy. The memory came of doing the same thing at detention, pretending she didn’t notice him while he pretended he didn’t notice her noticing him. She wondered if he could feel her staring now.

But then prom pictures began to flit by. Girls dressed in formal gowns, boys in black tuxedos, the school gymnasium decorated with balloon arches and glittering ribbons. Claire froze and gave the slide show her full attention. Not prom. Please don’t make her relive prom with John sitting right next to her. How stupid of her to not see this coming.

“Mike and Claire, our Prom King and Queen are both here!” Laurel crowed in the mic, shading her eyes and looking over the crowd as though spotlights were shining on her. “There you are!” she pointed in the opposite corner of the room. “Come up here, Mike!” 

Oh God, no. John was smiling at her now, noticing her panicked face. “It’ll be alright,” he promised. “They don’t know it was a bad memory for you, they just want you to go up there and wave.” She shook her head at him. How could she possibly?

“And Claire! Come up here, Prom Queen!”

She deflated and kept staring at John. He pressed his lips together with a sympathetic look and leaned closer. “No worries. You’ve got this, Princess.”

She didn’t feel reassured, but she didn’t feel she had much of a choice, either. As though she were marching toward a firing squad, she got up and weaved through the tables to get to the stage. Mike stood separated from the others, so when he offered a hand to help her onto the stage, she took it and opted to stand with him rather than the Popular Girls. Like John, he never spoke to her again after prom, so why she saw him as the lesser of two evils was beyond her. Probably because the screen was just over his head, allowing her to firmly and thankfully turn away from the video screen full of prom pictures. She cemented the smallest smile she thought she could politely get away with and half-listened to the commentary about the prom’s theme and song. Footloose. Claire at least remembered that much. She still hated the song.

“How long were you stuck talking with them?” Mike whispered.

Claire frowned, half turning to look at him. Was he seriously giving her a hard time about who she hung out with? Even the Popular Girls hadn’t questioned why she was talking with a former Burnout Criminal and a Brain. They were adults. This was a reunion. “I wasn’t stuck. I wanted to talk with them.” 

He snorted. “Are you sure? I saw them corner you at the bar. You looked absolutely murderous at one point.”

Wait. “Who are we talking about?”

His chin jutted slightly towards the gaggle of Popular Girls, all cheering and waving their arms as they sang the refrain to Footloose into the mic. “Them, of course. They haven’t changed a bit, have they?”

She didn’t know what to say. Wasn’t he still friends with them? “They’re alright,” she finally muttered, resorting to vague niceties.

He gave her a sidelong glance. “They remind me of bobble heads.”

“Mike!” she protested, not sure if she should laugh or not.

“I’m serious,” he insisted with a grin. “I was stuck talking with them in the bar before dinner. They wouldn’t leave and every time they opened their mouths, their lives sounded more and more pathetic, like they’re still stuck competing with each other after all these years. They all kept talking around my wife, their mouths flapping and heads bobbing around.” He caught Claire’s eye and mimicked a bobble head, just enough to make her finally laugh. 

“I’m so glad to hear you say that,” she whispered around her giggles. “I thought it was just me.”

“Definitely not just you. My wife told me at dinner she’ll be doing some soul-searching as to whether or not she can stay married to me based on my questionable taste in friends as a teenager.” Claire almost believed him, but he chuckled and shrugged with a grin. “Why did they even bring us up here? We’re being ignored.”

“I don’t know,” Claire laughed, relieved he felt the same way she did. The Popular Girls were singing a different 80s era song now, encouraging the reluctant crowd to stand up and join them. Only a handful of people did no matter how adamantly the girls cajoled. She wondered if they were all drunk.

“As long as we’re trapped here and not doing anything,” he chuckled before leaning closer and turning serious, “I need to apologize to you.”

“For what?”

“Prom. And after.” Claire gaped at him for a moment. Was there anyone in this room who actually enjoyed themselves the night of prom? 

But she didn’t remember him doing anything he would need to apologize for. If anything, it should be her, she’s the one who ditched him at prom and went home early. “You don’t need to apologize for anything. I was a bad date that night.”

“Well, maybe it’s after that’s really been gnawing at me. After you left, I spent the night dancing with a friend of mine, and…well…we really hit it off. I started dating her and never talked to you again. I dumped you after prom and didn’t even bother to tell you.” He shoved his hands into his pants pockets, somehow making himself look smaller. “It was a crappy thing to do, and I’ve been waiting twenty years to apologize to you in person. So…I’m sorry.”

Claire stared unabashedly now. They hadn’t talked after prom, that was true, but she’d always assumed it was her doing, not his. That he avoided her because she moped around the dance and left within an hour of the crowning, even refusing a ride home from him. Truthfully, she hadn’t noticed he was dating someone else. In the four weeks between prom and graduation, she was either studying or crying on Brian’s shoulder. She never really looked up to notice what Mike was doing. 

“That’s really sweet of you, Mike. Thank you.” He smiled and she was struck at how nice a guy he was, probably always had been but she just wasn’t looking for it. “I should apologize, too. It’s a long story, but I should’ve never agreed to go to prom with you. I was dating John Bender and too embarrassed to go to prom with him. We broke up over it.” Even after two decades, she felt a small flutter of nervousness at admitting it to someone from her former clique. 

He looked perplexed. “John Bender? I’m sorry, I don’t remember who that was.”

“It was a big school, and he wasn’t in our crowd or anything,” she admitted. She pointed to the table near the door, where John was in animated conversation with Brian and Sarah, ignoring the presentation entirely. Just as a look of recognition crossed Mike’s face, John glanced over and saw her pointing him out. An eyebrow raised and she gave him an embarrassed wave.

“I remember him!” Mike exclaimed as he acknowledged John with a nod. “He was always in trouble, right?” he asked as he turned back to Claire. “Liked to talk back to teachers?”

“Yeah, that would be him.”

He grinned at her. “You should have brought him to prom. That would’ve shook things up.” He glanced at the Popular Girls, who had given up the sing-along and turned their attention back to commenting on the slide show. “I guess we were different people then. I don’t really blame you for being afraid to stand up to everyone.” His gaze slid back to hers and he gave her an amused look while nodding towards the girls. “At least we grew up, right?”

She laughed again, suddenly very glad she’d been forced into the spotlight then ignored by the people who put her there. Talking to Mike had calmed something inside of her she hadn’t known was restless.

But most of the room was looking at her now. There was even some oo-ing and aww-ing from the tables, as though something cute had been said. She turned to glance at Mike, who shook his head at her, looking just as lost, but the image on the screen caught the corner of her vision. 

She almost smiled. It was, after all, a sweet picture. The crown was about to be placed on her head, caught hovering inches above her tall 80s era hair style, the prior year’s Prom Queen grinning in the background. Mike was leaning in, kissing her cheek with his lips tugged into a smile, the Prom King crown already on his head. A few of the other contestants were caught in the frame as well, all smiling as they clapped for the winners. Everyone smiled.

Except Claire. Even dressed in the hunter green formal, she looked as though she were meant to be in another picture altogether. Not only was she not smiling, she didn’t appear to notice anything going on around her, not the kiss, not the crown, not the applause. Instead, her gaze drifted to some point off camera, one hand raised in a half-hearted wave. Or reaching for someone. It wasn’t a very flattering picture of her. Considering it was one of the Popular Girl who picked it out, she expected that was intentional.

Kathy was suddenly in front of them, waving a camera. “Recreate it for us!” she demanded, a few of the tables near the stage cheering in agreement. 

Claire and Mike shared a hesitant look. “May I?” he asked. Grateful he asked instead of just planting one on her, she smiled and nodded. Mike put an arm around her and pecked a light kiss on her cheek, clearly uncomfortable with the whole idea but earning more ooh’s and aah’s from the room. 

She really couldn’t blame everyone for thinking the moment was sweet. It was. On the surface. No one else could possibly know that the photographer had caught the exact moment the reality of what she’d done finally hit her. Seconds before the picture, when she heard her name announced Prom Queen, she’d stepped forward with a surge of triumph. She’d probably had a smile on her face then. 

But then she reached Mike’s side and caught sight of John at the back of the crowd. He leaned against the gymnasium doorway, as though not sure he was invited all the way in. Resigned. Unnoticed by anyone else. Waiting for the Prom Queen to notice him then failing to react when she did, stone expression unchanging. Unsurprised.

She barely noticed anything else after their eyes locked, didn’t even feel Mike’s kiss on her cheek because she’d gone numb with the realization that even after all that happened, she was still the same girl John thought she was when they first met at detention. The bitch Princess who would turn her back on them. On him.

The thing was, it surprised her. 

She honestly thought she’d changed. Somehow, up until that point, she’d convinced herself everything was still under control. Barely, she knew she was hanging on to threads. But she thought that the fact she wanted to do the right thing would make up for the fact she hadn’t. 

Then the crown plunked down on her head and Mike grabbed her hand and raised it with his in the air between them, triumphant. John glowered at Mike for only a heartbeat before his gaze dropped to the floor, as though considering. Without looking at Claire again, he tossed his tuxedo jacket over his shoulder and walked out the door.


	21. Chapter 21

As soon as she stepped down from the stage, everyone from her table was standing, waiting for her and ready to go. “Had enough yet?” Allison quipped. 

Jesus, had she had enough. But not of her detention friends. She had a lifetime of catching up to do with them, so she was relieved when Brian suggested they check out their old high school rather than part ways. 

John turned and smiled at her when they walked over the spot she'd been parked the day she busted him out of detention, then stopped near the bottom of the steps, mere feet from where they first kissed. "Brings back memories, huh?" he commented. 

Claire snorted lightly and together they watched their old detention buddies wander the steps of the high school. Allison and Andy held hands at the top of the stairs, their necks craning as they took in the giant concrete awning that spanned out over the stairs. Floodlights lit up the staircase now, but somehow still wasn’t enough to penetrate under the awning to the recessed doors. Every once in a while Andy pointed at something and Allison would smile at him before responding. Brian and Sarah were still in the parking lot, his arm sweeping grandly as they took in the building.

"Do you ever come here?" she asked.

He laughed a quick, humorless laugh. "No." He turned to her then, was standing so close she could have reached out and touched him. "My dad died when I was 22," he said unexpectedly. He grimaced at his words, as though surprised he brought it up, then shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Liver failure."

"I'm sorry," Claire automatically said.

"Don't be. He brought little good into this world." He stared across the parking lot in the direction of his old dilapidated house, as though he could see it through the trees. Maybe he could. Maybe that house was always in his vision. "People told me for years after that I was supposed to feel something, that at the very least I should remember the few good moments and respect his memory."

"You don't agree?"

"You met him. Sort of. That was one of his good days."

She did reach out to him then, resting a reassuring hand on his forearm. It felt a very risky thing to do, touching him without his permission, and she almost removed it when his muscles bunched under her hand, quickly as though taken by surprise. But then he relaxed and smiled at her, no smoldering, no heat, just a smile of gratitude. "You were the only person from school who ever saw my dad. Literally. I was very careful to keep him away from my life outside the house. That’s why I wanted to tell you, I guess." He took one hand out of his pocket and patted hers, letting his fingertips linger before pulling away again.

"You look fabulous, by the way," he said without looking at her. As though he were commenting on the sturdiness of the school's cement steps. "I guess I was wrong."

Claire fought back the blush she could feel spreading across her neck. "Wrong?"

"I thought you'd have a kid and get fat, remember?" 

She felt slow to react to this statement, the memory of him saying it within minutes of their first meeting playing over and over in her head, a continuous loop. Slowly, she shook her head, taking a cue from him and not looking his way. "Nope, didn't get fat."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw John nod in agreement. The primal feeling of being close to him had dissipated some, floating around the pit of her stomach rather than spreading everywhere, as it'd been prone to do twenty years ago. She felt she could control it now, that she could remain cool and logical and maybe even use her brain…

…even when he turned towards her with one eyebrow cocked, his bottomless brown eyes burning with amusement. Those eyes. It wasn't fair, why didn't his eyes get older? 

But she let her smile grow in response as she lifted a single finger from his arm and poked him in the stomach. "Although I just had the one kid. I guess having three kids is what does most people in."

John's single eyebrow shot up his forehead and she heard Brian snort in laughter from behind her. The noise startled her into dropping her hand from John's arm. "Score one for Claire! See, John? I told you to lose ten pounds before the reunion."

John shook his head in mock defeat and rubbed the small protuberance of his belly. "Wow. Claire. You've grown witty. Not sure how to handle that."

For some reason this pleased her more than him saying she looked fabulous, so she turned away to hide the blush, instead watching Andy and Allison walk down the stairs towards them, hand in hand. They settled onto a stair and everyone followed suit except Claire. She blinked when she realized they were sitting in the same order as they had been for the picture on the stairs twenty years ago, Sarah neatly filling in Sheila's place, Claire's ready to be filled. 

"I have something to tell you all," she heard herself saying. She wasn’t entirely sure what she wanted to say. Brian and John both stared at her, John with that damn single eyebrow raised, and Brian with his mouth slightly open, just like he used to do when he was a scrawny, dorky teenager. She almost smiled at how young they looked. 

"What is it?" Allison asked as she straightened her skirt and leaned into her husband's legs. He rested a hand on her shoulder. 

"It's just..." Claire blew a stray hair from her face and briefly closed her eyes in an effort to steel her nerves. "I missed you guys. I didn’t realize it before, but I did.”

“We missed you too,” Andy replied, the others nodding in agreement.

“I should have been here,” Claire continued. “I’ve never been happy in California, never made friends that didn't feel....superficial. And I’ve never been as honest with anyone as I was with the five of you. It seems obvious now that I’m looking back on it, but I’ve never had real friends outside of you. And I barely spent time with most of you, barely got to know what it really meant to be a good friend before I ran off to California.”

"That sounds so sad, “Allison interjected, one hand pressed into her heart. “But we’ll always be your friends Claire, no matter how much time passes in between visits." 

“Absolutely,” Brian insisted. “If you were gone another two decades we'd still be able to pick up as though you never left. Detention linked us. Forever. "

Claire nodded but felt a surge of sadness at how much she believed it. Not because she didn't want it to be true, but because the truth felt heavy. She'd let so much time pass, friendless and alone, surrounded by people she let feed her shallowness.

No more. She couldn't be that person anymore. 

She turned to John. "I only left because I was running away from you." 

He stilled but didn't look surprised, so she dug up the nerve to push out more truths. "I had planned on going to Elmhurst College and living at home, remember? You and I talked about it sometimes, about how great it would be if you got an apartment near campus and we didn't have to sneak around anymore."

She paused and looked at him expectantly, ignoring the squeal from Allison at hearing Claire’s admission. "I remember," he said, almost expressionless before shaking his head as though clearing it. "Claire, it's okay, I told you -."

"It's not okay," she interrupted, determination lacing her voice. "It's very much not okay, and you telling me you also screwed up that night doesn't make my mistake any more acceptable. I didn't even want to leave my house after prom, more or less go to school, because I was so afraid of running into you. Even after you never showed up at school again, I worried about seeing you around town.” She gulped in a deep breath, tried to reign in the pouring emotions. No luck. “I couldn’t handle it, I panicked every time I thought about seeing you even though I desperately wanted to see you. So a week after graduation I left for California, told my parents I’d only be gone for the summer and would come back in time for school." 

She waved a hand towards her small group of friends. "And the rest of you became such close friends that summer. Every time Allison or Brian called me and told me how much time you were all spending together, I freaked out and wondered if John was with you or if you were all talking about how horrible I was.”

"Claire, we wouldn't have -." Brian started.

“So I never came back,” Claire interrupted again. She needed to spit out everything before the pity in their eyes became too much. She needed to tell them. “September rolled around and I just didn’t get on the plane. Then again at Christmas, then the following summer. My parents stopped sending me plane tickets after that.” Tears began to bite at the corner of her eyes, and she gazed up, willing them away. “My parents divorced that fall and sold our house, and my brother moved to New York. I convinced myself there was no reason to come home anymore.”

She was suddenly unhappy with the deep silence surrounding her, wished someone would say something, interrupt her before she confessed too much. But her words spilled out around her unhappiness, determined to be heard. “I should have come home to be with my real friends. I compared every friend I ever made to the five of you and they fell short. Always.”

Claire sucked in a deep breath and looked away from the sky, right at John, his eyes digging into her in that way that flayed her alive. “But most of all, I should have come home for you. No one has ever made me feel the way you did. I've spent the past twenty years looking for what I had with you and haven't found it. So I've basically spent the past twenty years hating myself for what I did to you, not only because it makes me ashamed, but also because as soon as I'd done it, I knew I'd thrown away the person I was meant to be with." 

She startled and waved a hand in front of herself, realization fueling the panic into flames again. “Not that I expect you to say you felt the same, I know you found someone else to love and that what we had in high school can’t even compare to what you had with your wife, it’s just my husband was such a douche bag and I never…I just didn’t…” She hissed in frustration and clamped her eyes shut, her words feeling hallow. Like she was trying to explain the vastness of the ocean. She even felt like she was drowning. 

But then she wasn't. Her eyes flew open to find him standing in front of her, his hands folding around hers. He didn't even say anything, just ran his fingers back and forth across her wrist, gently, as though he knew she just needed a moment of calm to find the right words, knew that a simple touch could bring her back. 

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"I know," he said. "It's alright. Claire, it's always been alright."

"You were the love of my life." Her words came naturally now. "And I am so sorry I didn't have the strength to face it then." 

His fingers paused at her words, like they'd been shocked into stillness. But then his eyes crinkled into a smile and he drew in her hand to kiss her fingertips. It was a quick brush of the lips that felt more encouraging than romantic, but her breath caught anyway. 

He sat back on the stair, pulling her with so she’d sit on the step above his, their hands still clasped together and his body between her and the others, as if trying to achieve the illusion of privacy. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t stop staring into his eyes, waiting for him to say something. Anything. 

He seemed to think for a minute, weighing his words. “I’d be lying if I said I never compared anyone to you.” He gave a small shrug and looked down at their entwined hands. “In fact, I fell in love with my wife because she was the first woman I’d ever dated who I didn’t compare to you. After a decade of fighting the urge to catch a plane to California and track you down, it was…freeing.” He glanced up again, apologetic. 

But Claire was only focused on one thing. “You thought about finding me?” He nodded and she pulled a hand from his to press it against her chest, breathless at what his admission meant. “All this time, I thought you hated me.”

He gave a small smile. “I only hated you the first few months,” he said with air quotes around ‘hated you’. “The truth is, I saw it coming. I knew you were afraid and conflicted. You were basically leading two lives, and instead of helping you through it, I forced you into a choice you weren’t ready to make.”

“I wasn’t afraid of -.”

“You were,” he insisted. “Every minute we were together. I could see it in you, that constant battle you had going on inside your head. And I resented it. I wanted you to rise above it even though I was damn well aware of how much you had to lose. It wasn’t until summer that I realized how lucky I’d been that you gave our relationship a chance in spite of all the reasons your popularity gave you not to.” He shrugged and shook his head. “But by then you were gone and I had an angry, pregnant girlfriend.”

Claire frowned at him. “Don’t try to make excuses for me.”

“I’m not,” he declared with a short swipe of his hand. “Really. I understand your part in what happened, and I understand why you feel guilty about it. But it’s important to me that you see my part, that you know I wasn’t totally a victim. I knew you were scared about us, but I pushed you for more anyway, then got mad when you caved. I could have easily waited until after graduation. I should have.”

He shifted to look more easily into her eyes. “Claire, I would have waited years for you.”

Her hand flew to her chest again, as though that simple pressure would be enough to keep her heart from leaping out of her chest. No one had ever said anything so romantic to her, had ever made her feel so desired. Not even her ex-husband. Especially him, actually. “You were the most amazing person I’d ever met,” he continued, “and didn't know what to do with that."

There was a long moment of silence, then: "Oh my God," Allison's voice burst toward them. "I can't stand it anymore. What happened between you two?"

"Yeah, what happened?" Andy chimed. His arms were wrapped around Allison’s waist, as though he were physically restraining her from leaping into the conversation, but his attention was all on Claire and John. 

John blinked slowly, as if the voices had brought him out of a trance.

"I screwed him over," Claire admitted, quickly, like pulling off a band-aide. "We’d been dating for over a month by the time prom came around, and we agreed to go together. But then I chickened out, and I went with Mike instead."

"You dumped John for Mike?" Allison asked.

Claire shook her head. "No. I didn't dump him at all. I just went to prom with Mike without breaking up with John or telling him I wouldn't go with him. I didn't even tell him not to come pick me up."

Both Allison and Sarah made indignant sounds, but only Allison felt the right to comment. "Claire, that's a horrible thing to do."

"I know," she agreed at the same time John said "Don't be so hard on her."

They caught each other’s gaze again, and he smiled and squeezed her hands, both safely back in his. “We both screwed up. We were young, it happens. I think it’s best if we both just acknowledge neither of us were good at honestly communicating. Maybe we met too soon, before either of us were ready."

Claire grimaced in agreement, then said the first thing that popped into her mind. "I can be ready now."

The seconds that passed in silence felt like days, but that was how long it took for her to realize what she’d said and slap a hand over her mouth.


	22. Chapter 22

Claire gasped at the same time she clapped a hand over her mouth, but it was too late. She'd said it without thinking. Her eyes darted away, too embarrassed to look at him, but the sight of everyone else staring at her with hanging jaws did nothing to ease her mortification. She couldn't believe she'd so mindlessly opened herself up for rejection, it was so unlike her, so far out of her comfort zone. 

After what felt like seasons had passed, she snatched her remaining hand from his and put it over her mouth as well. She just so badly wanted to shove the words back in.

"I, uh..." John looked confused, and for the first time all night, shy, unable to look her in the eye. He took his now empty hands from her lap and studied them for a moment, like he couldn’t believe they were empty again. Then he deliberately folded them together on his lap before raising his head to meet her eyes. "I can't. I'm sorry."

"I don't know why I said that," Claire mumbled from behind her hands. 

"Yes, you do," Brian and Allison chimed simultaneously. Claire managed to glare at them over John’s head, but all it did was make her too embarrassed to look at him again even though she could feel the weight of his gaze on her. Twice she opened her mouth to say something but snapped it shut with the words unsaid, and both times everyone stilled, all eyes on her, then deflated into fidgeting when she said nothing. Eventually even the fidgeting stopped.

"Wow," Andy finally ventured. "That got awkward fast."

Then silence again.

"Listen," Sarah exclaimed in a clear tone that implied she wasn't going to sit through another long silence. "It's one in the morning. We're too old be up this late."

It was enough to break the tense mood, and everyone snickered in agreement and began to move. Claire could practically see the awkward fumes fall away and drift down the stairs like fog. If only her feelings of embarrassment and rejection were as easily dispersed. She felt itchy to get away before John said anything more to her.

"Before we get up," Brian said, making Claire groan to herself, "I had an idea." He turned to Sarah and she rummaged in her gigantic shoulder bag that would have rivalled Allison’s bag at detention, pulling out two framed pictures and handing them to him. He held up the top one for everyone to see. It was the black and white copy of the six of them sitting on the steps after detention, the one Sheila's mom had taken when she came to pick her up. Claire hadn't seen it since Sheila died, when Brian had sent her a copy. It felt too painful to look at and she'd packed it away with her yearbooks, the photo strip of her and John, and that damned plastic crown.

"Oh, God," Claire exclaimed, reaching for the picture. "Look how young we were." She almost grinned as she touched John's face in the photo, remembering, but at the last second bit it back and handed the picture to John, careful not to look at him.

"I was thinking we could recreate the picture now," Brian said. He held up the second photo, Sheila's graduation picture blown up into an 8 by 10. "I borrowed this from Sheila's parents so she could be in the picture. Sarah can take it." To emphasize the point, Sarah pulled an expensive-looking camera from the same bag and waved it for everyone to see.

There was a moment when everyone exchanged glances, Claire even risking a peek at John. "I think that's a great idea," he agreed with a tentative smile at Claire.

They spent the next couple of minutes rearranging themselves on the stairs, Sarah fussing over the details of the old photograph, even the smallest differences too big to overlook. Sheila's photo shifted mere centimeters five times. Then Sarah decided they all needed to move up a few steps in order to better use what little light they had, and the fussing started all over again.

Finally, Sarah was satisfied. The camera clicked for what felt like a full minute before she stood down and allowed them to relax. "I'll find the best ones and send them to you," she promised.

The goodbyes were long and drawn out, and after a final hug from Andy and Allison and a promise to keep in better touch, she watched their car pull out of the parking lot. Like the day of detention, only she and John were left. He was leaning against the metal railing that climbed the middle of the giant staircase, clearly waiting to talk to her. "I didn't say no because of how things ended with us."

She hugged her arms around her waist. She didn't know what to say to that. Even after all his assurances, she was still angry with herself about it and not sure how he could be so understanding about it. 

"I didn't," he insisted again.

"Okay."

He pressed his lips together in an irritated look, clearly not buying it. "Come over here," he insisted. He reached for her with both hands. "I'm still not going to bite."

She almost rolled her eyes, but instead dropped her arms from her tight hug and climbed the few steps between them to take his hands. Her heart still raced when he touched her, but even though they were alone, the hand holding felt less romantic somehow. She knew he wasn't flirting with her now.

"Yes, you screwed me over." She flinched at his harsh opening, but didn't look away. She could take this. "But I used it as an excuse to go out and get wasted, and I got a girl pregnant that night. You might have stood me up for prom, but I stood up a little girl for a lifetime, and it's too late for me to fix it. I just have to live with it." 

He squeezed her hands, an almost resigned gesture. "I said no to you because I've only recently begun to forgive myself for what I did to my daughter and her mother, and truthfully, I was hesitant to come to the reunion because of that. I was afraid seeing you again would open old wounds, and I can't dwell on that again. I need to be 100% mentally present for my younger daughters. I'm all they have left."

"Did it?" Claire asked. "Did seeing me make you feel bad? Because I thought the same thing. I thought seeing you would rip my heart open all over again. But I didn't feel bad, I just remembered how great I used to feel when I was with you."

He smiled crookedly and seemed to think about it for a moment. "No, I haven't felt bad tonight. I've felt better than I have in a long time, actually."

A shot of panic dug into her as she realized she was going to put herself out there again. But she didn't even consider stopping it. "So maybe you were right. Maybe we met each other too soon, and we weren't meant to be together then. Maybe we were meant to be together now." 

"Oh, Claire." He reached up and touched her cheek with their hands still entwined. "I'm not ready to date again. I've been so focused on my girls and making sure my business is running smoothly, dating has been the last thing on my mind. I haven't even looked at a woman that way, at least not until tonight." He chuckled as though it were funny, then seemed to realize what he'd said and frowned down at their hands, his brow furrowed. 

When he raised his eyes back to hers again, he didn't seem to know what to say. "I just don't think I can," he finally said. 

Claire deflated a little. "Okay."

"I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "No, it's okay. We have to think of our kids first. I understand." She did understand, that was the thing. She didn't like it, but she knew if the situation were reversed, if dating would undermine her ability to care for Evan in any way, the decision would be an easy one. She already felt that way about her job. It was hard to be mentally there for Evan when she came home, exhausted by how fast-paced and demanding everyone was on a movie set. She couldn’t imagine adding a boyfriend to the mix, hadn’t even been on a date since Nick left. 

She frowned when she realized how true that was. Her job left her no time or energy to go on a date, more or less parent her own child. It never would. Her boss had practically melted down about the five days she took off just to fly Evan to Oregon then come here. As long as she remained at that job, Evan would grow up practically motherless. Why had she never seen it that way before? 

John gave her hands a final squeeze and released her, turning as though to leave. 

"Wait," she said, placing a hand on his chest. She felt so bold all of a sudden, so sure of herself. He leaned back against the railing as she dug in her purse, producing one of her business cards and a pen. She looked around for somewhere to write, then with a flirty grin, pressed the card against John's chest and wrote on the card.

"This will no longer be my work number," she explained as she crossed out the phone number for Laurentine Cosmetics. "I'm giving them my two weeks’ notice when I get back." She felt rather than saw his eyebrows raise at this, but she was too elated with her decision to worry about it. She felt positively giddy, actually. Was this what it felt like to know where her life was headed?

She turned the card over and wrote another number on the back. "This is my cell phone number. I'll be keeping it even if I move."

"You're going to move?"

She shrugged and grinned. "I don't know. Maybe. Probably. I have to make some changes, and once I've quit that soul-sucking job, I'll have time to focus on what's best for me and Evan." She took his hand and placed the card into it, slowly closing his fingers over it, remembering the first time they did the same thing with one of her diamond earrings. That time, they didn’t speak after, he’d just leaned in and kissed her. She’d thought they were saying goodbye. It had felt so final.

It didn’t feel quite as final this time. “Don’t lose this,” she said. 

He gave her a crooked grin. "I won't."

"I want you to call me if you change your mind about being ready to date. Some day you will be." Before he had a chance to respond, she raised up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his, gently and only for a second…

…but she felt him smile against her.


	23. Chapter 23

Monday, September 27th, 2004

 

“Mommy,” Evan crooned, his eyes shut as he snuggled into her. “Read it again.”

Claire laughed gently and kissed the top of his blond head, shutting the book and setting it aside. “You’re almost asleep, Little Man.”

“No I’m not,” he slowly insisted, his eyes still closed. But he didn’t say anything else. Claire lay on the bed for a while, listening to his breathing as he fell asleep against her chest, her hand stroking his soft hair. Finally, she looked at her watch. It was 8:00. She had two hours left to get some unpacking done.

“Is he sleeping?” her dad whispered as he tip-toed into the room. It wasn’t quiet enough.

“Pop-up!” Evan exclaimed, his eyes bouncing open and a sleepy grin spreading across his face. 

“Dad,” Claire groaned. “He just fell asleep.”

Her dad grinned and lay down on the other side of bed, opening his arms and hugging Evan as the little boy crawled into them. “I guess I’ll just have to cuddle him until he falls asleep again. What do ya say, Buddy?”

“Read a story!” Evan demanded.

Claire stood up and walked around the bed, handing her dad the book she’d already read three times. “I have unpacking to do, so you two enjoy.” She leaned in and ruffled Evan’s hair, kissing him on the forehead. “But you calm down and get to sleep.”

“Aw, he’s just excited,” her dad protested.

“Yeah,” Evan parroted. “I’m just excited!”

Claire pretended to growl as she kissed her father’s forehead, too. “I can see I’m going to have my hands full dealing with the two of you.”

“Power Twins!” They called out to each other as she left the room. She smiled when Evan yelled “owwch!” after fist-bumping with his grandpa too hard. “Careful, Bud!” her dad exclaimed. Then his voice droned into the story.

Claire put her hands on her hips and took in the mess around her. It looked overwhelming, but she knew that in reality she was almost done moving her and Evan’s stuff in. The trip back to Illinois had been fraught with excitement, Evan bouncing in his booster seat the entire way, beyond ecstatic that they would be living with Pop-up and he wouldn’t have to stay in day care all day anymore. The entire adventure had been flawless, which was impressive considering it all crashed together within a few months.

Next week she was going to move her dad out of his dark little apartment in the senior high rise. He was hesitant to move in with her at first. In true Midwestern fashion he didn’t want to impose too much on her life. But they could no longer ignore the harsh truth that he couldn’t be living alone any more, and when she framed it as though he’d be doing her a favor by renting a small house the three of them could share, he jumped on the suggestion that she could be his caretaker. It was a short-term solution at best. She knew it was only a matter of a few years before he’d have to go into a more intensive care facility, but for now, while his health was still good enough to spend time with her and Evan, it was perfect.

She reached into a box labelled ‘closet’, hesitating only a second when her fingers wrapped around a picture frame rather than clothes or shoes. Almost reverently, she pulled it out and traced a finger over each of her high school friend’s faces. She saved John’s for last, her finger lingering over the glass while her mind wandered once more to the reunion. Flipping the frame over, she touched the old photo strip taped to the back. 

As soon as she’d arrived back in California after the reunion, she dug out the box that held her high school memories. It held little more than her yearbooks, the detention picture, the photo strip and the plastic crown. The photo strip and picture remained side by side in clear view on her little kitchen table until Evan returned from Oregon. There was no way she was boxing up either again, so she taped the photo strip to the back of the frame and placed them high on a shelf, away from dirty hands and questioning eyes. She could only imagine the questions Evan would have if he saw the photo strip. She blushed all over again just thinking about it. 

But she did give him the crown to play with. He proudly carried it to his daycare to show off to his friends, and as she hoped, it was never heard from again. As happy as she was to see it go, she did hope it hadn’t broken, imagining instead that it found a home in a dress-up bin full of princess dresses. 

She shook her head and pulled her mind from wandering down that same path. She couldn’t spend all night daydreaming, she had unpacking to do. Crossing the room, she placed the photograph on the fireplace mantel next to the more recent version. Brian had brought it to her as a housewarming gift.

He’d been in town for work the day she pulled in with the van, so that night he came over and helped her move in boxes. He was wonderful with Evan. He made sure Evan was always “helping”, giving the excited boy small items to carry off the truck. He even brought him a bag of chocolate candies and told Evan they were moose poop, making the boy giggle non-stop as he ate.

“He’s going to go crazy from all that sugar,” Claire admonished him. Brian scoffed and said he didn’t believe in that, then watched wide-eyed as Evan descended from excited to manic in twenty minutes flat. Fortunately, Andy and Allison showed up with their four boys to help unload the truck, and one of them was charged with running Evan ragged in the back yard. 

The pictures looked good together. As much as Claire had rolled her eyes with impatience at the time, Sarah duplicated the picture almost perfectly. Claire even looked happy and relaxed while leaning back into John’s legs. 

Her cell phone buzzed in her pocket, interrupting her inevitable descent into yet another daydream. Pulling it out, she checked the number that came up on the screen, grinning when it showed a local area code. Allison set her up for an interview with a second-hand fashion boutique that a friend of hers owned. It had been years since she’d worked in retail, but she had no desire to stay in cosmetics and only wanted a part time job, so this seemed a perfect fit. The woman was supposed to call her some time tonight to arrange an interview.

“Hello?” she chirped in her most professional-sounding voice.

The chuckle on the other end of the line was definitely not a woman. She briefly wondered if it was Nick, but it didn’t sound like him, and it wasn’t his number that showed up on the screen. “Hello?” Claire said again, with considerably less class.

“Hey, Princess.”

 

*******THE END!!! Thank you, to everyone who read, commented, and enjoyed. This was truly a fun story to write, and your support made it all the more enjoyable. Please, if you have any comments to make or any constructive criticism you think would help me become a better writer, let me know!


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